Drawn from Thence
by Rudyeie
Summary: "Funny how we all thought aliens would be more advanced than us: garish space ships, exotic weaponry, technology that would make even a flux capacitor shudder with fear. No one ever expected them to be wielding swords and donned in steel." A word to the unwise . . . don't read this story if you're looking for something quick and conventional.
1. Chapter I

_**A/N: **I ought to warn you, this tale starts off not even sort of like Skyrim. There'll be plenty of dragons and whatnot from the next chapter and onwards, but bear with me for now. I believe I've taken a new approach on the Elder Scrolls series._**  
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**Chapter I**

**"May wisdom settle in your soul."**

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_Loredas, 5__th__ of Sun's Dawn, 4E 210_

_My name is Daniel. I cannot remember my surname. I suppose I kept one in the past, but so much time has gone by since I arrived here . . . and these people have been calling me "Dragonborn" for so long . . . my last name gradually faded away into nothingness, just as my old life did. I remember Boston, however. Assured, Solitude has its tall towers, and Markarth being built into a mountainside certainly gives those buildings an illusion of great height, but the skyscrapers that I was once so accustomed to . . . they are nonexistent in this land: here in Skyrim._

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I bought a gun a few months ago, right around the time the Bruins lost the Stanley Cup to Chicago. I'd been living in the city for three years and my apartment had been broken into on ten separate occasions – _ten_. I figured it was about time. In the few months that I had owned the Ruger I'd fired it on only two occasions: both while practicing at a gun range. I was neither an avid marksman nor a huge fan of the sport; my only intentions were learning the basics, just in case.

So that's what I did. I learned about the safety, how to reload a magazine, where to properly place my hands, and when not to put my finger on the trigger. Then I bought a small safe, shoved it in the back of my closet, locked the pistol in there along with an extra magazine, and hadn't looked at it since.

Unfortunately, my neighbor's badgering about my purchase of the firearm had lasted for as long as I'd owned it. "You're too young for that _thing_," the old man would say. Or, "I don't feel _safe_ with that _weapon_ just across my hall."

"It's not your hall," I would tell him. "And would you stop calling the cops on me? I'm twenty-two and I have a license to carry. It's legal." That jabbering between us occurred three or four times a week. I'd lost count of the times the police had shown up at my door because of him; eventually they stopped coming altogether.

"I don't give a damn," he would holler, "I'll do as I please!" Then he'd try and spit at me. Perhaps back in the '50s he could have done so successfully, but nowadays the glob merely fell onto his withered chin and he would grumble and shuffle back into his apartment without even noticing.

I don't know why I started thinking about my neighbor. Maybe adrenaline did that to you, made your thoughts fly. Maybe my life was flashing before my eyes. I couldn't be sure. I was only aware of my clammy hands making it incredibly difficult to unlock the safe.

Out of the ten times that my apartment had been broken in to, only one of them occurred while I was home – and that was right now.

I'd flown out of bed at the sound of glass shattering in a room nearby; my eyes had registered a glowing number _2 _on my alarm clock, among other things. It was sometime around two in the morning.

I was kneeling on shaky knees in the back of my closet – clothes and shoes of the such strewn behind me as I had anxiously dug my way to the safe – and with equally shaky hands I turned the dial, over and over and over again.

_Thirty-seven, eighteen, twenty-four . . . thirty-seven, eighteen, twenty-four _. . . The numbers whirled through my mind as my fingers whirled about the dial, slipping every so often because of the nervous sweat that had broken out over my body. I pushed some hair out of my eyes and squinted in the darkness. _Why won't it open!_

I could hear the falling pieces of loose glass and the crunch of the intruder's footsteps as he slowly made his way through whatever window he had broken. Then there was silence. I held my breath but could not override the pounding of my heart. I assumed he was listening for me, if I was awake, if I was home. _He can hear my heartbeat_.

And at the sound of a _click_ I jumped. I could feel his presence behind me. He had cocked the gun, had it aimed at my head, I was about to die. _I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die in my pajamas like an idiot unable to open his own safe. Detectives will come and investigate the scene and see my body and laugh. What will my parents think?_ I squeezed my eyes shut and sent a prayer up to God.

Then I realized with embarrassment – and great relief – what had actually happened. My hands were working tirelessly at the dial and after countless attempts the small silver door was unlocked. It had clicked in doing so. I yanked it open.

With the weight of the Ruger in my hands I was slightly calmer, but I could still hear the drumming of my heart and nearly taste the adrenaline. I stuffed the extra magazine in the pocket of my sweatpants and got to my feet, feeling a bit braver than I had been moments ago. I wasn't going to die. Not tonight.

I held the weapon in front of me as I had seen so many officers do on TV shows. My bare feet stuck slightly to the cool hardwood floor as I crept across my room and hoped I wouldn't step on any broken glass. When I reached the doorway I lowered the gun so that it wasn't blatantly obvious that I had one, and peered around the corner. With one eye I saw that the window at the end of the hall was still intact – he must've come in through the living room then, it was the only other window that led out to the fire escape.

I swept across the hall like a ghost and, pressing my back to the wall next to the living room's entryway, glanced around the woodwork. At the sound of more crunching glass, however, I jerked my head back to safety. My heart rate hadn't slowed. I shifted the Ruger in my hands and subconsciously pulled up the left side of my sweatpants: the extra clip in my pocket was weighing them down. From the sound of the glass, I pinpointed the intruder's location in my mind's eye. If I was correct, he'd be to the left of the TV; so when I stepped out from behind the wall, that's where I pointed the gun.

An angry cab driver was blaring his horn in the distance and silver moonlight blanketed the sleepless city of Boston. There was frost in the late November air, and all of these details drifted in through the shattered window. But all of these details were insignificant and a world away in light of the dark silhouette before me.

"Don't move," were my first words to the stranger. I'd rehearsed the line in my head a millions times between moving from the hallway to the living room, each time sounding confident and controlling, but as I finally spoke the words aloud I was surprised by the level of fright in my voice. That fright was mirrored by the weakness of my arms and the sweat that dampened the back of my neck. The pistol suddenly weighed a ton, yet I kept it centered on the torso of my intruder. I didn't have the nerve or skill to attempt a head shot.

The glow of the moon created a silver outline around the stranger before me. I couldn't see his face, though he was perhaps half a foot shorter than I was. The man didn't appear to have a weapon of his own nor did he raise his hands in surrender, as anyone with a gun trained on them might. His arms were concealed within what must've been a trench coat or even a robe of some sort, and his head hooded. I vaguely wondered how he had broken the window.

The man was as motionless as he was wordless, and I was as baffled as ever. "What do you want?" I demanded of him, my voice steadier. No response, and suddenly every horror movie I'd ever seen flashed through my mind. The light switch was across the room and I didn't dare move from my position, didn't dare break my concentration. That's when the demons get you and the ghosts possess you and–

_Get a grip,_ I told myself. "Get out of my apartment," I ordered the intruder. Again no response. I was beginning to panic and could feel the anxiety rising in my blood like smoke from a fire. "I'll shoot you I swear if you don't leave!" I motioned with the Ruger. More silence and stillness but I made sure to keep my finger off the trigger. I had half a mind to call the police, if only the phone weren't in the other room.

"I have the right! You're breaking and entering and I can do it." My words were deceiving. I shook silently, dreading the thought of actually pulling the trigger, killing someone, and I wondered why in the world I had to be tortured by the presence of this unwelcome guest.

Then finally the person spoke, softly, and I was shocked by the sound of the voice for this intruder wasn't a man: it was an elderly woman. And she said, quite simply, "Daniel."

I could feel myself go pale and wondered if it was visible in the moonlight. "Who are you?" I asked, the pitch of my voice rising despite my desperate efforts to control it. I was horrified by the presence of this mysterious, hooded old woman. "What do you want?"

"Daniel–" she repeated as she slowly revealed a hand from her trench coatish-robe.

"Don't move!" My breath came out in frosty puffs now. The air of late November was cruel and poured in through the window, and although I knew I should be freezing in only a t-shirt and sweatpants, I was hot all over. The gun shook in my hands. I could feel an anxiety attack coming on. "I mean it!"

She extended her arm towards me, palm facing outwards. The moonlight traced each one of her fingers with a silver glow and she said very peacefully to me, "–calm down."

Instantly it was as if a wave of cool, liquid tranquility had washed through me. November's night reached my skin, the icy air an extreme relief. I could feel myself uncoiling, and slowly I removed my finger from the trigger, unaware that I had ever put it there. My breath was light and even, the frosty clouds formed by it were long, and gradually I lowered the gun to my side. I was still aware of the woman before me, aware that she was trespassing, but I no longer felt any form of hostility towards her – only a deep curiosity.

"Who are you?" I asked genuinely, this time out of interest rather than apprehension.

"I cannot tell you that, Dragonborn," she said.

_Dragonborn?_ I mused.

"All I can say is that you are needed desperately, and that is why I have come here." She spoke earnestly enough that I wanted to believe her, but I couldn't quite grasp the situation. Not to mention she didn't quite make sense.

"What? Is this some sort of prank–"

"I assure you this is no game," she said curtly, cutting me off. "You must go now and take this."

"Go where? Who are you?" I was bewildered. But the old lady was in her own little world. She removed something from around her neck and offered it to me: a silver necklace. It dangled from her fingertips and gleamed in the moonlight; some sort of emblem hung from its center that I couldn't quite make out.

My bare feet stuck to the floor from having stood there so long, but I stepped forward and took the necklace by the cord. As soon as it was in my grasp the woman continued talking, "Give this to the first woman you meet. She will understand its significance, but whether she decides to inform you is up to her. She will help you – at times even more than you know."

"What does that even mean, 'the first woman I meet,' as if I haven't met a woman before . . ." My thoughts drifted off as I held the necklace up in the moonlight. It was beautiful, and seemed to reflect the moon's light with pride. The emblem at its center consisted of a magnificent sapphire. The necklace was really more like an amulet. "Where am I going again? How will I know if I give this to the right person?" I couldn't believe the questions I was hearing myself ask. As if I was actually going somewhere.

"It will be the right person."

"Alright then." I couldn't help admiring the gem. "So am I taking a bus or something?" I asked absentmindedly. "I hope you brought tickets 'cause I'm not buying."

At this the woman laughed, and it seemed so unusual for her to have a personality under that hood that my attention was actually drawn from the amulet. I looked at her inquisitively, realizing that I still hadn't seen her face and knew nothing about her.

"What's funny?" I said. She had no response, and the honking of a horn from down on the street seemed to snap me back to reality. I felt the gun's weight in my hand again; the magazine in my pocket was still pulling on my sweatpants. I offered the necklace back to the woman, uneasy, wanting her to leave. "Here, take it," I told her. "I don't want this, and I don't want you here anymore. Please go."

She refused to take the necklace back, shaking her head and tucking her arms back under her robe. I imagined she was smiling, but there was no way to see. The moonlight continued to cast an eerie glow from behind her, and I realized that every expression I'd made during this encounter had been clearly visible to her . . . and suddenly I was angry. I wanted nothing to do with her or this game anymore.

"You have so much to learn," the old woman said, seeming amused. And with that she sat down, cross-legged, right in the shards of glass she had created in entering my apartment. All I could do was raise an eyebrow. "May wisdom settle in your soul," she said.

I dropped the necklace, letting it fall to the wood with a clatter. I raised my pistol and once again trained it on the woman, finger beside the trigger, exhaling frosty air. With my free hand I adjusted my sweatpants and began to back slowly across the room. It was time to turn on the light.

She'd started chanting before I'd taken two steps. It was a soft, foreign language that seemed to emanate from her, and was not one I recognized. With each step I took she grew louder and the words more powerful. I couldn't understand them, but it was as if I could feel them. The words were alive; I could feel them seeping into my bones and pounding with my heart. And I hated them.

I wasn't even halfway across the room by the time I could do nothing but sink to my knees. I covered my ears. I wanted to tell her to stop; I tried desperately to speak, but her voice was overpowering and when I opened my mouth I could only silently gasp. What was happening was far beyond me. I doubled over in the still pain of the chanting. I could feel myself losing myself. The room spun. Haze filled my vision and then dark clouds crept in to mask the haze. Her voice was all I heard. Her deafening, defeating voice. It shook me to the core and it crushed me, left me paralyzed, left me falling, and for every moment I fell a part of my being disintegrated until even the pain was no more. There was nothing, nothing but the voice, nothing but the chanting and the words, words, _words_.

Then, abruptly, even the voice was gone.

Everything was gone.

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_Reviews are tremendously appreciated. :]  
__Thanks for giving this first chapter a chance, assuming you've read it all since you're reading this message,_  
**_Rudyeie_**


	2. Chapter II

_**A/N: **I apologize for the long wait between Chapters I and II. For those of you who were waiting, I hope this lengthy chapter can make up for it._  
_To everyone else? Thanks for liking Chapter I enough to click on Chapter II. It's much appreciated._  
_Enjoy._

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**Chapter II**

**"The odds of survival were slim in this frigid wasteland of rubble and thieves."**

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Distant, vague sounds found their way to my ears.

The neighing of a horse, the faint squeak of an old wooden carriage. A young boy, curious as ever, and deep, booming voices that had an air of command. They all sounded worlds away and at the same time just out of reach.

A man desperately pleaded for his innocence, a woman's strident voice denied it, a series of _whirrs_ followed.

A heavy voice asked curiously, _"Who . . . are you?"_ The same heavy voice was soon apologetic.

Scraps of sentences swam through to me from a male voice that wasn't as deep but bursting with authority: _"Ulfric Stormcloak . . . murder . . . restore the peace . . ."_

I felt like I was listening from underwater. Sounds blurred back into nothingness as I sank further down.

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There was an earsplitting _ROAR_. All grogginess was shaken from me. My eyes snapped open and I found myself lying flat in the dirt, staring up at a staircase that wrapped itself around the inside of a dank stone tower. The entire structure was quivering.

Dirt and pebbles fell from the ceiling high above me. Slowly I propped myself up on my elbows and looked around, stunned. My mind wasn't registering.

There was a second bone-jarring boom that sounded a lot like thunder and in an instant I'd scrambled to my feet, wincing from the noise. It was then that I realized I'd been tightly gripping my Ruger and that there was a small, familiar weight pulling the left side of my pants. My hand flew to reveal a magazine full of lead bullets from my pocket and I looked down at myself to find I was wearing the same white t-shirt and dark sweatpants I'd had on the night before.

_At least I think it was the night before _. . .

I was even barefoot and went on to wiggle my toes in the fine dirt beneath me. I knelt down and scooped some of it up in my palm, let it sift between my fingers as I tried hard to convince myself I was dreaming.

How much time had passed I wasn't really sure of, but memories flashed through my mind. The crazy woman who broke into my apartment . . . maybe she drugged me. Maybe this was all a hallucination.

Another thunderous roar made me doubtful. Would a hallucination be so clear? So loud?

I stuffed both the gun and extra ammo in my pockets and tied the strings of my sweatpants fast around my waist to keep them up. Cobblestone began tumbling down around me, each chunk landing with a _thud_ in the dirt. I looked around for an exit as there was another deafening screech, disorienting, and to my left noticed a thick wooden door. With a heavy push the land beyond revealed itself to me.

Fire.

I could smell and feel it before I could see it. The light was blinding, my eyes adjusted slowly, and screams filled my head. Screams of, _"Dragon!"_

I couldn't grasp what was happening or where I was. All I could take in was the fire raining down from the top of the tower I'd been in. I stood stunned under the small arch of the doorway, staring upwards with boyish confusion at the flame that poured from the neck and mouth of an enormous, scaly beast. My eyes followed the trail of flame to the scene before me in which houses, horses, and people were being scorched alive. Some who hadn't yet been burned were shooting arrows at the thing, others fleeing. My gaze came to rest on a young woman not ten yards away whose hands were bound behind her back. She was in the dirt struggling to stand up; a decapitated body lay a mere few feet from her.

_It's just a mannequin_, I swore to myself. Deep down, though, I knew I was in denial. I'd never admit it.

Against all instincts that were screaming at me to stay put, I raced forward to help the woman. I couldn't define what had compelled me to do so, but the next thing I knew my hands were around her arms and I pulled her to her feet. Flame poured down around us and in a single moment her eyes locked with mine, full of gratitude and fear. They were the color of the Caribbean.

"Hey prisoners, come on!" I turned towards the gruff voice, finding its owner to be a man who looked suspiciously like Thor. "The gods won't give us another chance, this way!"

He'd even said "gods." But the winged monster let forth another cry of rage and I had no time to question him or any of my million fleeting thoughts. I gazed into the sky and watched the creature of my childhood fantasy circle this burning village. There were more dead here than living, more red than any other color. In a glance over my shoulder I saw that the tower I'd just been in was now a pile of ruins, and miles beyond that snow-peaked mountains stretched as far as I could see. I truly wondered where I was.

"Quickly, brother!" Thor was calling to me. The girl I'd helped up was already with him and I hurried to join the two in a tower very similar to the one that was now rubble behind us.

A pair of dead and bloodied bodies were first to draw my attention. They were slumped against the stairs and looked all too real . . . the smell all too overpowering to be mistaken for anything but dead. My head spun and I leaned heavily against the wall. It was as if I was the only one who even noticed them.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

_Jarl? When was the last time I heard that title?_ I racked my brain, trying desperately to occupy my mind with anything other than the dead . . . _soldiers? Are they soldiers? Jarl . . . studying the medieval era?_

A tall man with thick braided hair answered plainly, "Legends don't burn down villages."

"This can't be happening," I muttered to no one in particular as I bowed forward and rested my hands on my knees, feeling weak.

"I'm sure there isn't one person here who is not shocked by this dragon, brother," Thor said to me.

I sighed and looked down at my bare feet, now the color of ash and dirt. It was a miracle I hadn't stepped on something burning yet.

"So . . . that is a _real_ dragon?" I asked edgily. "I'm not on the set of a movie or something? Where are we anyways and why do you keep calling me 'brother?'"

The two blond men looked at me in the same way that I used to look at my calculus teacher. Ulfric opened his mouth, about to comment, but a deafening roar cut him off and the tower trembled. Instead he shouted over the noise, "Ralof, we need to move. Now!"

"Up through the tower," said Ralof. Damn, so he _wasn't_ Thor. It would've explained so much. "Let's go!"

The three of us followed, the bound woman having been silent so far. There was a break in the stairs where a soldier was struggling to move rubble out of the path. For some reason his uniform stood out to me – a navy blue cloth partially covering what must've been leather. Then I realized Ulfric and Ralof wore the same color.

For the first time I noticed that the woman I'd helped was dressed in ragged, tawny clothing. Wild brown hair reached just beyond her shoulders and I silently wondered what her story was. I was about to offer to untie her when the wall just ahead of us burst inwards.

Someone cried, "Get back!" but not before the soldier trying to clear the rubble was snatched away in the jaws of a beast. I stood gaping.

I turned to Ralof. "Are you sure I'm not on one of those TV shows where gullible morons get pranked all the time?" It was the only plausible explanation. "I'm sure by now the audience has had its laughs. Whaddya say we call it quits?"

Ralof stared and then said quite abruptly, "You speak in strange tongues, brother." I nearly face-palmed. "There will be plenty of time for talk if we make it out of here alive. See that inn down there?" He pointed through the missing chunk of wall where the dragon had broken its head through. I nodded. "Jump through its roof and keep going. We'll follow when we can."

"What?" I stared uneasily at the smoldering building below. "I can't make that jump," I said, shaking my head, "it's too far out. Never mind the twenty foot drop." _Never mind I'm barefoot. Never mind the floor looks like it'll collapse if I land on it. Never mind the building is on fire._

"There's no time to be afraid," urged Ralof.

"I'm not being afraid, I'm being sensible," I countered. I _was_ afraid though. Afraid, petrified, and deeply, deeply disturbed.

My options became limited when the dragon roared again and this tower, too, began to crumble. I covered my ears, longing for nothing more than silence. The dragon was deafening, no matter the distance I felt as though I'd forever be tortured by its sound. It was as if its voice tore into my soul; it was not a sound I'd soon forget.

I wasn't sure then where Ulfric or Ralof had gone. I lifted my head, having been shaken off balance by the reeling tower. Across the gap in the burning inn I saw the brown-haired girl; how she'd made that jump I would never know. What I did know, however, was that it was possible, and unfortunately it was my turn.

I backed up, pressing myself against the sooty rubble that the blue-garbed soldier had died trying to move. _If this is a prank, now is the time to stop me and say, 'This has gone too far!'_

No one was going to stop me though. No one was going to step out from behind a curtain and cut the scene, introduce themselves to me and apologize for any inconvenience, ask me to sign a document acknowledging that I'd be on national television in a week or two and then call a taxicab to take me home. I envisioned myself crawling into bed that night, laughing away what an odd experience this had been and then going to class in the morning. My friends wouldn't be able to get enough of it.

Oh, how I could dream.

The dragon thundered mercilessly. Cobblestones again crashed to bits before me, and I took the dragon's roar as a green light. With a nerve I didn't know I could muster I raced towards the hole in the wall and the blue-eyed girl lingering across the way. For reasons unknown she was waiting for me, watching me with those sapphire eyes.

I only wish those eyes hadn't seen me fail.

I could've made the jump, I _know_ I could've. If only the dragon hadn't smashed the tower with impeccable timing, I would've gotten the proper launch off the edge . . . but the floor lurched the moment before I leapt and instead of sailing I stumbled, the stone swept away from my feet, my hope swept away from myself. My stomach rolled, my breath caught in my throat as I plunged head over heels through smoke and horror to what could only be my death far, far below.

And I swear the dragon was laughing.

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_'Wow, would you look at that view, Daniel?'_

_We were atop the Prudential._

_'It's breathtaking.'_

_Like the veins of our bodies, highways wove through a gentle green mass of hills and trees._

_In the opposite direction the infinite ocean sparkled with the blazing rays of a setting sun._

_Overhead, an airliner roared as it voyaged out to sea._

_Another day gone by, another sun gone down, and the miserable populace in the cars on the veins did not even know what they were missing._

_Pain._

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Pain.

Never before had I understood a word so well. The pain was unforgiving, gripping with its relentless claws and suffocating with its sooty breath. It tortured me to consciousness and scorched every inch of my body, a feeling of flame when there was none. I knew though, I don't know how I knew but I knew – burns weren't among my injuries. The burning was a result of the more serious wounds, the ones that were piercing my leg and crushing my chest and dully exploding in the back of my skull.

Slowly my eyes opened, heavy with what must've been ash. I found myself enclosed in a murky darkness. Light was dimly spilling through from somewhere but all around me was stone, inches from my face and pinning down my body, pressing ruthlessly into my chest and seeming to directly crush my lungs. I couldn't get a full breath so I wheezed slowly, coming to grips with my situation and making a desperate attempt to dull the panic that was beginning to boil my blood. This was no prank.

_Calm down_, I told myself. And instantly my mind flashed back to a hooded woman with moonlight silhouetting her, telling me, _Daniel . . . calm down_.

Why had she brought me here?

A silver-corded necklace dropped with a clatter to a cool hardwood floor. Moonlight gleamed off of the royal sapphire at its core.

_Give this to the first woman you meet_, she'd said.

The amulet; where had it gone? Eyes the same shade of the sapphire rippled into my mind. They watched me carefully, anxiously, then tragically as I fell and fell and fell.

_I have to find her._

Maybe it was the key to survival, a ticket home, a wish on a shooting star. My only instructions, bizarrely simple instructions, and they'd escaped me. I decided right then and there that I'd fulfill the command of the madwoman who'd broken into my apartment. But first, I had to free myself from this crippled, ashy tomb.

I lifted my right arm, finding it to be uninjured and unrestricted by the debris; I could move it freely within the rocky enclosure. I quickly discovered that my left arm was pinned to the ground by the ruins; the sharp edge of something cut sorely into my forearm, rendering it immovable. With my right hand I pressed gently against the varying stones surrounding me. Like a game of Jenga, I slid my fingers across the rocks until I found one that was particularly loose. I braced myself, expecting the structure to collapse inwards on me, but having no other options I shoved my palm hard against the stone.

It gave way surprisingly easily. I listened to the rock tumble to the ground, clashing with other stones on its way as an amber light surged in through the gap. I pushed more and more stones aside, motivated now, and cold, breathable air worked its way toward me. I inhaled – shallowly, as my chest was still being crushed – but the frosty air was rejuvenating. It reminded me of a night that seemed like an eternity ago.

I found myself gazing into a deepening violet sky. Stars gleamed and the sun hung low to my right, as if hesitating to leave me in the darkness. I kept working at the stones until my right shoulder was free, and with that accomplished I was able to partially prop myself up on my elbow and get a better look around. Not before dizziness overcame me though, and with that the full force of a migraine pulsed ceaselessly in the back of my head. I couldn't resist the urge to reach my hand behind my head and take account of the injury . . . my fingers instantly fell upon dampened hair, and I knew it wasn't sweat. There was no question, when I pulled my hand back in front of me I was surprisingly unsurprised to find it glistening with crimson in the sunset. It would've made me sick in other circumstances, but I knew I didn't have too much time before the sun's light would be gone. No time for useless panicking, that meant.

I took a moment to scan my surroundings. My entire body was beneath rubble, stones and shards of wood. To my right was a massive pile of scorched remains of what must've been the inn. A crumbling tower of cobblestone was piled at my left, and I was trapped beneath the base of it all. I wasn't too sure how I'd make it out of this, but I took it one stone at a time. Repeatedly reaching across my chest with my free hand, I unburied my left arm – rock, by rock, by rock. From somewhere deep within came the strength to keep moving, and I finally reached the last stone that pinned my arm to the ground.

I was slightly more startled by the amount of blood I saw this time, and even more astonished by the fact I was still conscious. A razor-edged stone dug into the entire length of my forearm, and it took a lot of painful pushing and shoving from my right hand to finally free it. By the time I could weakly lift my left arm from the soggy dirt, the sun had set, an owl was calling in the distance, my eyes were watering and the gash that ran the length of my forearm had me feeling dizzy again. I shut my eyes tight and laid my injured head back in the ash, pressing my arm against my body and letting my no-longer-white t-shirt soak up some of the blood.

_Got to keep moving._

With the maneuvering of rocks, I'd created space between my chest and the stones that had been previously crushing me. I took a deep breath of the frigid night air – my first full breath – and figured if I was careful, I could slide the rest of my body out from under the rubble. Keeping my injured arm pressed to my shirt, I reached backwards with my right hand and got a solid hold on a large boulder I could use as support. I gripped the top of the rock, curled my fingers around its edge, gritted my teeth and slowly, oh-so-slowly, began to ease my body and legs out from under the rubble in front of me.

It was an action I'd quickly come to regret.

It'd taken mere seconds; I cried out in agony. I'd never felt such pain before. It came with the first movement of my legs, my left leg, something was severely wrong. How I hadn't felt it sooner was unknown to me, but the pain was so unmistakably sharp, clear – the torment never once ebbed but continued to pound brutally within my leg.

I opened my eyes, unaware that I had closed them. The stars glared as I gasped raggedly, my grip on the rock behind me had gone slack. My left arm lay limply against my chest. The pain reverberated with the beat of my heart – that dull, careless beat that kept only the time until death.

I had to see my leg. I couldn't define whether it was curiosity or the irrepressible need to survive, but my mind kept coming back to the one thing that was keeping me awake. I was beyond cautious with my movements. Not once did I move my left arm, I wasn't even sure I could anymore, but with my free hand I slowly plucked away the rocks that separated my upper half from my legs. It felt like hours, yet it couldn't have taken more than one. The moon's position hadn't changed too much from what I could tell, but then again I hadn't exactly been focusing on it. I found it challenging to even focus on moving the stones, the simplest of tasks. The one thing gnawing away at me, however, was the cold. Cruel and uncaring, its frosty breath never ceased to freeze my skin and bones. My arm had most likely frozen to my shirt, the wound on the back of my head seemed to have iced over. Like a robot I dug away at the rocks.

Finally – it could've been an eternity – there was nothing pinning me to the ground. I pushed myself into a sitting position and felt my back peeling away from the hardened dirt, as if I'd been lying there a lifetime. I cradled my numb arm in my shirt, as the other arm was needed to keep me upright after seeing what had caused the agony in my leg. It was maybe a foot and a half long, the jagged wooden shard that pierced straight through my upper thigh.

_That's not my leg_, was my first thought. Denial. But acceptance came quickly, followed by vomit. I was luckily able to avoid myself, only after which I felt even more drained. I held fast to the sturdy stones by my side as my mind reeled and another wave of dizziness beckoned me to go to sleep.

I would've drifted off too – would've laid right back down in my own vomit and died somewhat peacefully – if it hadn't been for the voices that perked my interest. It was the first sound I'd heard in a while that wasn't a result of my pain, deep voices that belonged to a pair of men. My eyes flicked open; I was again alarmed by how they shut so easily without my knowing. I turned towards the voices, now being able to make out the heavy footsteps, and eventually saw the dark figures themselves as they picked their way across the remains of the inn to my right. The moon gave off enough light to see by, and the men noticed me before I could decide to be afraid or relieved.

"Told ya I heard something," said one. "This one's alive."

Still torn between fright and relief.

"Guess we got lucky," said the other. They were advancing on me, and from their unwelcoming tones I chose fright. The adrenaline kicked in and helped to numb the pain in my leg.

"And it don't look like he's goin' nowhere, neither."

"You've got to help me," I choked out to the two, taking a chance. I could only imagine what I must've looked like, covered in ash and blood, freezing in the cold.

They came closer, chuckling now. For the life of me I couldn't figure out what was funny. "Help you! Sure, we'll help lighten your load," said the bigger of the men. "Search 'im for what he's got."

The shorter but stockier man climbed over rocks and rubble to get to me. He smelled heavily of whiskey and dried meat. Curly facial hair kept his face hidden and pebbles fell onto my lap as he leaned down to get a better look at me.

"Aye, he's as good as dead," the man called back to his mate. Then something by my collar grabbed his attention and he said quietly to himself, "Now what's this little beauty?"

His thick, burly hand reached towards my neck. My heart sped.

"Back off, man," I told him, raising my good arm in defense. But he only pushed it aside and pulled from around my neck something that I didn't even know was there. The wound on the back of my head was scraped in doing so and I winced painfully, but when I looked up, there in the moonlight, the sapphire amulet hung from this man's fingertips.

_It was around my neck this whole time! _It must've been tucked under my shirt, and it'd taken this thief to notice it. Anger flared within me. "No! You can't take that," I growled, and with an unknown strength I reached up and curled my fingers around the silver cord, nearly pulling the necklace from the man's grasp. Pain shot up my leg with the movement but it quickly blurred into nothingness as a newfound drive surged within me. I couldn't let him take the amulet.

Even in nothing but the moonlight I saw the man's eyes narrow, as if no one had ever dared to cross him before. With a swiftness I wasn't expecting he brutally kicked me in the jaw. I fell limp against the debris to my left. My head hammered blindingly and the stars in the sky weren't the only stars that I saw. My hand landed against my leg, against my pocket and something that bulged within . . . _the Ruger._

The criminal snickered as he crunched back across rocks and debris to his partner. I dug up the energy to right myself and somehow pushed away the dizziness that was becoming intolerable. I pulled out the pistol, flicked off the safety, and carefully took aim. Every action I made was deliberate, every word the truth. And somewhere deep down the truth frightened me as I heard myself call out:

"Stop or I'll shoot!"

The man paused briefly, nearly back to his buddy now. He turned around and in annoyance said, "Shoot? I don't see no bows or arrow." His pal laughed.

The comment never registered and I said menacingly, "I mean it."

The last time I'd spoken those words while aiming a gun was when my apartment had been broken into, and I knew then that I'd never truly meant what I said. But now – this situation was different. So drastically different that when the two men turned their backs on me and began to walk away with my amulet, I pulled the trigger with ease. With the pop of the gun one of the dark masses slumped to the ground in the moonlight.

His mate stood stunned, frosty breath visible as I heard him utter while gazing down, "What kind of dark magicka is this . . ." He knelt beside his partner, must've turned him over, said something to him, then chanced one final look at me sitting among the rocks before taking off into the night. The moonlight showed his last expression of horror clearly, and only then did it strike me what I'd just done.

More vomit. Dizziness. I ashamedly stuff the gun back in my pocket and leaned my forehead against the cool stones to my side. I breathed slowly as the adrenaline and anger and sorrow subsided, watching every breath of mine form into a small frosty cloud then dissipate before my eyes. Thoughts of the man I'd just killed were quickly replaced by the sharp pain in my leg that refused to be ignored.

I sat up and took a long look at myself. My left arm hadn't moved from its cradle in my t-shirt; I couldn't even feel it anymore. My right leg and arm were uninjured. I felt the back of my head again, now just a tender lump. _I think the blood really did freeze over_, I deliberated. And my thigh, my left thigh did not look good. The wooden spike that penetrated it was buried deep into the ground as far as I could tell. Not that I'd ever be able to walk with the shard through my leg – my only options were to tear my leg free or die. Death would've been so easy.

I exhaled, dreading what was to come and knowing it couldn't be done slowly. How much pain could a person tolerate before losing consciousness? I knew if I blacked out again the odds of survival were slim in this frigid wasteland of rubble and thieves.

Slowly I worked my palm under my leg. I had to scoot forward in order to create enough space for my hand, and even that minor movement was agonizing. I grit my teeth and gripped the back of my thigh close to where the wooden fragment had gone through. The leg of my sweatpants was soggy with what could've only been blood. _How am I still alive?_

I braced myself, dug my right heel into the rocks for support and tensed every muscle in my arm, prepared to use all of my strength to free my leg.

"On three," I breathed.

"One." Inhale.

"Two." Deep exhale. A pause. A prayer.

_Three!_

A bloodthirsty, blinding inferno ripped through my leg as I pulled upwards. Torture. Excruciating, red, unbearable torture I suffered as the splintered fragment of wood grinded through the flesh and muscle of my upper thigh. I couldn't recognize the animal-like screams as my own; I refused to. The pain seared in waves from its epicenter in my thigh and reverberated throughout my being. Its echo thrashed until even my blood had gone numb. And after what may as well have been a hundred years, the blaze died out, as did the sad, bellowing howls that muted the night. A sparkling sky made itself known to me once again, each star glistening with the water in my eyes.

I sat up shakily, gripping the rocks to my sides with either hand, the gash in my left forearm was numb and nothing compared to my sorry leg. The wooden spike reflected the moon's light with a crimson tint, my left leg free beside it. My dark sweatpants concealed the blood and hole in my thigh, either of which would've had me reeling back in the dirt if I got a good look.

The pounding of my heart slowly drummed itself out, and in the distance an owl cooed.

Coldness clutched at me now. It sank into my bones and wounds; froze my clothes to my body and hardened ash to my skin. I had to get up. No way had I gone through so much just to freeze to death. Movement was vital. My teeth chattered relentlessly.

I clawed and pulled at the sturdy rocks around me, using them to steady myself and get my weight onto my right leg as I kept the injured one carefully bent, allowing no pressure to be put on it. I was reminded of my bare feet by the jagged ground – a minor detail in a major crisis. The moon shone brightly, and as I stood for the first time in a long time I was finally able to take in my surroundings: the small village that I'd woken up in only earlier today was now obliterated. I could make out the charred remains of houses and towers. Rubble blanketed the ground. A layer of ash coated it all, giving the ghost town an air of both tranquility and death.

Another wave of dizziness shook me, but wasn't one that I couldn't fight through again. I held fast to the stones by my side until it passed, then used the same stones to hobble out of the pit of rock that I refused to let be my grave. I soon realized that I wouldn't be able to get far on just one leg; with a conscious effort I pressed my left hand to the wound in my thigh and allowed my foot to touch the ground. I winced and – sucking in icy air through clenched teeth – limped heavily across broken stones and shattered wood. It didn't take long for my feet to become clumsy blocks of ice.

I found myself heading in the direction of the dead thief. The man I'd shot. The man I'd murdered. I pushed the thought from my mind, having enough to weigh me down as it was. It was in self-defense anyways . . .

His eyes were still open when I got to him, gazing blankly into the moon. I couldn't keep from looking at the man. It was blatant that I'd shot him in the back of the neck . . . the scene was gruesome. Blood soaked the ash that stained the wood beneath him, and only moments later did I find myself having a fit of dry heaves, nothing left in my stomach to throw up. By the end of the spasm I was even shakier than before, and without another look at the body I staggered away, guilt-ridden. It was the bigger of the two men that lay motionless behind me; I could clearly remember the size difference. The one who'd run off was the one with the sapphire amulet. A knot built in my throat with the understanding that I'd murdered the innocent man. The look of horror that his partner had given me plagued my mind – it wasn't one that I'd ever forget.

I made my way to the outskirts of the devastated village, where the rubble thinned and frosty grass reached my equally frosty feet. Every step was an effort, but the nonstop movement kept my heart beating and blood flowing. Especially from the hole in my thigh was blood flowing; the palm of my left hand warmed from it with every passing moment, just as with every passing moment I grew drowsier. Sleep beckoned me with open arms, and not only had my left hand heated up, but my entire body felt to be pleasantly warming as if I were sun-bathing on a beach in the Bahamas.

By the time I'd made it onto a narrow brick pathway my mind was too far gone to notice. I felt hot, soft sand hit my cheek . . . not the cold, callous stone of the path. And as I was being lifted it was by the balmy sea, sweeping me away to harmony and happiness. Surely it wasn't the cruel reality of someone trying to save my baffled life.

**…**

**…**

**…**

* * *

_Behold the not-so-savvy escape from Helgen.  
You can't deny that Ralof looks like Thor. But I've never even seen that movie. (Shh.)  
Hope you're enjoying the story, and hope to hear from you,_  
**_Rudyeie_**


	3. Chapter III

_**A/N: **To any younger readers or those who are easily offended: **beware of language** towards the end of this chapter. On a separate note, this chapter felt like it took forever to write. I'll admit I took this one really slow, but hey, it's done. Chapters will probably come far between with this story, I'm a slow writer anyways. Still, I give to you my best.  
_

* * *

**Chapter III**

**"Dragons don't exist."**

**...**

**...**

**...**

_Morndas, 7__th__ of Sun's Dawn, 4E 210_

_My leg never did fully heal, but with nine years of practice I've grown good at masking the limp. It still pains me, though. Occasionally I'll go sleepless – the pain too stubborn to ignore and my dreams too nightmarish. I'm not sure I'll ever understand the horror I experience when I close my eyes for an evening . . . All I know is that I've been kept awake for a long, long time._

**…**

**…**

**…**

With strong arms she carried the outlander back to Riverwood. This wasn't exactly what she'd expected when she fled Cyrodiil to join the Imperial Legion in Skyrim. Then again, she hadn't expected to be arrested by the Imperial Legion itself and nearly slaughtered by a dragon.

_A dragon_, she thought in wonder. When was the last time anyone had seen one of those beasts? Centuries, it must've been.

The full moon flooded the night and lit her path through shadowy woods as she marched heavily with the stranger slumped over her shoulder. Crickets droned peacefully in the background. How he managed to survive was beyond her, especially after taking that fall. She'd expected him to be dead – mauled or burnt or crushed by the debris – not that her expectations were something she could rely on at this point. But there he'd been, hobbling along before collapsing to the ground in front of her. It was obvious he had been wounded, but the struggled breathing that still escaped him told her that this trek was not made in vain. She couldn't place what had compelled her to make her way back to Helgen and search for him. Perhaps it'd been guilt: he'd practically saved her life and she felt that she owed him? No . . . there was something deeper than that forming in her gut that she couldn't quite decipher. Something that even now was pulling at her, demanding of her to not let this stranger die.

Before long she'd made it back to the Stormcloak's house. She wasn't exactly thrilled with her current company, but despite differences that were older than either of them, the Nord had led her from Helgen and generously offered hospitality on his sister's behalf. It was the least she could do to stay the night, especially now that she burst into Gerdur's home with the unconscious body of this mysterious man.

"You found him!" exclaimed Ralof, standing abruptly from a wooden table and almost knocking over his chair. He looked on in disbelief as she dumped the stranger onto the nearest fur-blanketed bed. Ralof apparently hadn't had high hopes of the Imperial locating the man at all, never mind her getting him back to Riverwood on her own.

"Don't underestimate me," was her only reply.

Upon laying eyes on the blood stained body, Gerdur strode across the room with a box of medical supplies she'd taken from under a counter. "Oh my . . ." she breathed, and in the warm light of the home the group was able to see the extent of the stranger's injuries.

Gerdur's son, Frodnar, peered around the wall of adults and – in a childish manner that only a boy could muster in such serious circumstances – said quite plainly, "He's dressed funny."

**…**

**…**

**…**

_All would have been lost were it not for the slim hand that grasped mine._

_She pulled me to the begging, teasing ocean, with its billowing sails and smoking clouds._

_To a curious breeze that pushed our vessel onwards, and to cheating waves that lapped at our feet–_

_–then seized unforgivingly._

_The wind cried for me as I was pulled beneath the crushing weightlessness of the sea._

_Just surrender to the roar of the ocean. It would have been painless to do so._

_All would have been lost were it not for the slim hand that found mine._

**…**

**…**

**…**

Thirst closed its dry grip around my throat.

_Water._

With eyes still closed I reached for the nightstand to my left, knowing I kept a glass of water there every night. But my arm felt oddly tight, as if the muscles were clutching each other like a mother might clutch her son after seeing him fall off his bike. I opened my eyes with more difficulty than I'd expected, and as my vision slowly blurred into focus I realized I wasn't in my bedroom.

_What happened last night?_ My first fleeting thought was that I had been drinking too much – I'd woken up in strange places in the past – but then memories hit like a train. I could nearly hear the roar again, and my head throbbed with the sound that wasn't even there.

I pushed myself upwards, groaning from unexpected pain and stiffness that wound through my body, and came to discover that standing at the foot of the bed I was in was a young boy. He was perhaps ten years old with light brown hair and matching eyes that watched me intently. I leaned back on the heels of my palms and waited for him to speak, not sure what words my own voice would bring, but after a moment the boy turned his back to me and ran off. Further down the room he tugged on a door until it opened, and golden sunlight poured onto him. "Mother, Uncle!" he shouted. "He's woken up!"

I took a look around, finding myself in what appeared to be a wooden cabin – although from what I could gather it was really just one large, "L" shaped room. A fire crackled at the far end of the house near the boy, and through various windows I recognized sunset. The scent of something mouthwatering reached my nose and again thirst scratched at my throat.

Absentmindedly I rubbed a hand through greasy hair, wincing as I rediscovered the lump on the back of my head. Just touching it sent a stinging shiver through my skull – instead I inspected the tightness of my left arm, and the crude stitching that my gaze fell upon made my eyes widen: thick black thread was woven firmly in and out of my skin down the entire length of my forearm, disgustingly but effectively sealing the gash that had previously been there. The skin surrounding the stitching was a sickly yellow color; I couldn't tell if it was bruised or infected.

"By the Nine Divines, brother, you're awake!" I tore my eyes away from my arm to find a Thor grinning happily at me. I wanted to roll my eyes, but instead found myself smiling stupidly in return, particularly at his calling me 'brother' – the gesture was somehow welcoming at this point. With my positive response Ralof beamed. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "You've slept for nearly two days."

_Two days?!_

A very plain, blonde woman came in behind him, followed by the young boy who suddenly seemed shy, stealing a look at me from behind her long skirt. I eyed the two as they made their way curiously towards Ralof and me, then answered his question with exactly what was on my mind. "Thirsty."

_Is that considered a coma?_

I was relieved by the solidity of my own voice, having expected it to come out rough and raspy. Ralof clasped a hand around the shoulder of the tall woman at his side. "This is my sister, Gerdur," he said, then motioned to the young boy shadowing her, "and Frodnar, her son. Would you get our guest some water?" he said to his nephew. The boy nodded and walked off.

_What odd names_, I thought, and the word _Slavic_ popped into my mind. Whether it was their correct origin I couldn't be sure. My knowledge of languages or nationalities wasn't extensive, but even majoring in psychology came with its fair share of history classes. Hell, every major did . . . _I wonder what I'm missing in class today_._ No, wait. Today's Saturday. Right? What day was two days ago? I wonder if anyone's looking for me . . ._

Ralof turned back to me. "Gerdur here saved your life," he said proudly. Her thick, blonde hair was parted neatly in the middle and strands of yellow fell onto her creased forehead. Thin lines of wear and work were etched into her face and her cautious blue eyes settled interestedly on me. I sat up straighter to extend a hand of thanks. She paused briefly before gripping it dryly, her hand the size of mine.

"Thank you," I said sincerely.

"I would have done the same for anyone," she said. I wasn't expecting her thick accent, more defined than her brother's. "Of course, I cannot take full credit for your well-being. You would not be here if not for that brave Imperial girl," Gerdur turned to her brother, adding, "and 'tis not often we honor Imperials."

Frodnar appeared at my bedside offering a cup of water. I took it gratefully and after giving him quick thanks he was back behind his mother's skirt. Only when my lips touched the brim did I vaguely acknowledge that the cup was made of wood, yet the water was gold and I gulped it eagerly, the anomaly disregarded. With my thirst quenched I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Sorry," I said to Gerdur, "you lost me at 'Imperial.'"

The woman raised an eyebrow and a question began to form on her lips. It was not one that was ever asked, however, as a commotion bursting into the house cut her off.

"Get _lost_," demanded the source of the disruption. All heads turned as a door slammed, and I would've jumped out of the bed at the sight of the blue-eyed girl had I been physically able to.

Her icy eyes bore into the door with a deep fury as she clutched at the pommel of the stout blade on her belt. A plain looking bow was slung over her shoulder and a quiver hung loosely on her back. Draped over her other shoulder was a rope of some type of small animal carcasses. This she removed and pushed into Gerdur's arms, her eyes still distant as she muttered, "Let this be a token of my appreciation for your hospitality. I'll be departing after dark."

"I see your hunt was fair," Ralof said slowly. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes snapped to Ralof's and her tone was equally curt. "Those damned vigils!" she swore. "You know I was on the trail of a doe? By the Eight, your family could've been fed for a week. But that hooded nuisance fouled my hunt, followed me all the way back here too–"

"–Vigil? You don't mean a Vigilant of Stendarr?" asked Ralof, surprised. "Why, they're the kindest people in Tamriel."

"Certainly," said Gerdur. "One cured my husband of an awful illness, few years back. Free of charge. In fact it was the Vigil who insisted, but Hod wouldn't hear of accepting 'charity,' y'know him. Perhaps if he hadn't been bed-ridden he would've stayed sick, too, that fool . . ." Gerdur trailed off, probably realizing that no one really cared about her testimony. "Anyways, thank you for the meat. This'll make a fine stew. And don't feel obliged to leave so soon, you're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"You've been overly gracious, Gerdur, but I must be leaving tonight." She'd recomposed herself quickly.

"At least stay for dinner," Ralof offered.

I hadn't taken my eyes off her. I couldn't. She never noticed me, tucked away in the corner of the house behind Ralof, Gerdur, and her son. I'd been listening hungrily, my mind tangled with questions that I couldn't pull apart. Her voice was like a melody even in anger. She had the slightest accent that was only noticeable during her outburst.

I decided to get up. I pushed off the blankets that were keeping me warm – _are these made of fur?_ – and slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed, clenching my teeth and hearing the hiss of my sharp inhale as a lightning pain shot up my left leg and straight into my side. My hand flew to grasp at my ribs but the pressure only made me recoil. They must've been broken. Although my life was saved I was far from healed.

I stared down at my bare feet, just now noticing that both were wrapped tightly in an off-white cloth. I cautiously pressed a hand to my thigh and cringed at the heat wave of pain that reverberated with the touch. My sweatpants were stiff with dried blood and although dark to begin with, even darker blood stains were visible – particularly around the hole in the fabric where the wooden spike had impaled me. Through this I could see more reddened bandaging that wrapped all the way around my thigh. Basic but effective for the time being. The whiteness of my t-shirt was long gone, and I realized the same was true for my dirt and soot crusted skin. I wasn't one to be fussy about appearances, but I must have looked like Hell.

At some point Ralof noticed my effort to stand. He soon had my right arm around his shoulders and was hoisting me to my feet – too quickly for me. My head reeled with dizziness and I swayed, perfectly content with falling to the floor if it hadn't been for the rough hand that grasped the back of my collar and kept me upright.

"You're awake," said the melody. Even as the room spun I could detect a hint of relief in her voice.

"You all right, there, brother?"

My knees threatened to give out and I shut my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose and waiting for the wave of nausea to pass. I subconsciously kept any weight off my left leg. Ralof was the only thing keeping me upright. I hadn't realized I was the same height as him.

I chanced a peek at the room after a moment. The walls had grown still, the rough wooden floor solid again, no longer rolling like a stormy ocean. "Yeah," I muttered, "I'm fine."

"Think you can walk?"

"I can try," I said, removing my arm from around Ralof's shoulders and carefully touching my foot to the floor.

Standing took more strength than I remembered. I could feel in my gut that walking was a bad idea – still I tensed my muscles and stepped forward. With the shifting of weight to my wounded leg my knee immediately buckled. I collapsed like a sack of bricks to the coarse, wooden floor. It didn't come as a surprise.

"Ugh," I groaned, pushing myself to my knees. Hands came to my aide but the ones to reach me first were the small, rough pair belonging to the brown-haired girl. I couldn't help but notice a thin scar that ran from her left thumbnail to her wrist. She gripped my arms and gently pulled me to my feet, and I flashed back to myself helping her in the same manner as a dragon breathed down our necks.

She steadied me, her eyes meeting mine, the fury that had previously occupied them now nowhere to be found. I found myself looking down at her as I was a few inches taller.

"Who are you?" I breathed, unable to keep the question locked in my mind any longer. It'd been plaguing me since day one. Her eyes searched mine for something I wasn't sure she'd find – maybe the answer to my question – and her brow furrowed. With her silence I continued, trying to speak slowly and picking my words with care as I found the need to explain myself: "This is going to sound crazy, but, I was brought here, or _sent_ here, wherever 'here' is, to . . . find you. I think. I'm supposed to give you this amulet, a sapphire amulet, but it was stolen from me after I fell from that tower yester– I mean, two days ago . . ."

I sighed, letting that jumbled explanation set in.

Slowly she released her grasp from my arms but neither of us moved. We stood nearly face to face. The only sound in the house was of Gerdur calmly stirring something in a cast-iron pot over the crackling fire.

"At least tell me your name," I said.

She studied me for a moment, looked me from head to toe and then back to my waiting eyes before answering, as if judging whether I was sincere enough to know such valuable information. I could only imagine what I must've looked like to her.

"Aevaliin," she said.

"Aevaliin," I repeated, letting the name roll off my tongue like a song. "My name is Daniel."

At this the corner of her mouth turned ever-so-slightly upwards, and I couldn't figure out why. Maybe she believed me. I ran a hand through my hair in bewilderment.

"Dinner's just about ready, everyone," announced Gerdur, snapping my focus back to the present. She was busy taking wooden bowls from a cabinet. "Why don't you all take a seat?"

Aevaliin moved to the table after placing her bow and quiver against a wall. I twisted my head around to find Ralof. "Do you have a bathroom I can use?" I asked him.

"A what?" he said after a moment of staring blankly.

Now I returned the stare. "You know–" _How do I put this_, "–a restroom?"

"Well do you want to bathe or rest?"

_What._

"Neither, man," I said exasperatedly, "I just want to pee." _Although a shower would be nice._

Ralof laughed heartily at this and at the table Frodnar giggled too, the first sound I'd heard him make since broadcasting my consciousness. "We have an outhouse 'round back, if that's what you mean," Ralof chuckled.

"An _outhouse_?" I couldn't help but express my disbelief, and a thought burst into my mind that would've explained everything. "Are you Amish?"

"Am I what now? You certainly have a unique vocabulary, brother."

_You have a unique lifestyle_, I silently countered. _Don't Amish people know they're Amish?_

"Never mind." I dismissed the thought. "So, where's this . . . outhouse?" It wasn't a question I thought I'd ever hear myself ask.

"Out of the house, of course!" he boomed. His loudness was bringing on a headache and I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to will myself back to Boston. Seeing my lack of amusement, Ralof settled a bit. "Turn right out the door and head 'round back of the house," he instructed. "You'll see it. Are you sure you can walk?"

"I'm fine," I said. I took a feeble step forward with my left leg and hopped quickly onto my right. With a heavy, awkward limp I managed to walk. How I walked away from the ruins of that disaster the other day was a mystery to me, especially with all the fresh injuries. Must've been the adrenaline.

"That's what you said last time." My hand was on the door handle but Aevaliin's teasing voice stopped me. I looked over my shoulder to see her sitting at the table, eyes full of amusement. A smile played across her lips but she looked away to take the bowl of food that Gerdur was offering her. I used the moment to escape outside.

The sun was gone although its light lingered in the indigo clouds. As I pulled the door shut behind me the delicious aroma of Gerdur's meal faded, but the brisk air was refreshing and I sucked it in welcomingly – then regrettably as my left side pinched painfully in doing so. I found myself looking out at a village not unlike the one that was pulverized by a fictitious monster just days ago. The only difference was that there were no towers in this town to fall on top of me, or to fall _from_.

I turned and made my way out back, keeping a firm hand against the wooden side of the house to prevent myself from falling. What I really needed was to see a doctor, but something rather comical grabbed my attention and discounted the thought.

Lo and behold, standing proudly among the grass with a complementary mountainous backdrop, was an outhouse. Complete with a wooden bench and hole, I soon came to discover. The only thing missing was a cutout of a crescent moon on its door. What I ignorantly hadn't expected was its stench, and I relieved myself quickly, hoping to never use one again. _Should've just pissed on a bush_.

I returned to the front of the house but hesitated before going back inside. Rather I leaned against the wall next to the door, taking in the small village just down the simple cobblestone road. It was fairly dark now but a few people meandered about. I felt like I'd stepped back in time. There was no sign of cars or even electricity, no wires, no paved roads. No sign of modernity. Occasionally a heavily dressed figure would pass by holding a torch in one hand and a circular, yellow shield in the other that had some sort of tribal horse engraved on it; movies of Vikings and knights and medieval fantasies played through my mind. None of the people acknowledged me and I was content with keeping to myself. I stuffed a hand in my pocket, feeling the cold metal of my Ruger and pushing away memories of what I'd done with it. I found myself not wanting Ralof or any of them to know I was armed; judging from the looks of their bows and swords I assumed they didn't use or support guns. Or have any notion of the twenty-first century.

A ways to my left a small river reflected the light of the moon. I looked beyond it to looming forests and dark, towering masses that could have only been mountains. _Where in the world am I?_ I thought slowly, watching my breath condense then disappear into the night. I looked down at my left arm and ran a finger over the bumpy, black stitching that made me cringe not from pain, but from the appearance of it.

Before long the door beside me opened. It was Gerdur's heavily accented voice that said, "Oh, you're right here. Come inside," she invited, "your dinner's getting cold."

"Yeah, I was just getting some air," I told her. I followed Gerdur into the house where the effect of the welcoming fire was instant on my chilled skin. "Do you have a sink or something so I can wash my hands?"

"What are you, one of them prissy Altmer?" Ralof cut in from the table, stuffing bread into his mouth. "Eat like a Nord, kinsman!"

"Uh . . ." I couldn't quite word my questions as I watched Aevaliin shoot a glare at Ralof that went unnoticed. I felt like I was missing something important.

"Behind the bar there's water." Gerdur pointed as she sat down to eat. The four didn't pay much attention to me with their food in front of them . . . or so I thought. Three tended to their suppers; one persisted in sneaking icy glances at me as I crossed the room.

Behind the bar, among such things as daggers and foreign-looking coins, I found several buckets of water. Actual wooden buckets. _They're definitely Amish_, I thought as I soaked my hands in the lukewarm water and combed my fingers through disheveled hair. I realized I was beginning to care less and less about sanitation as I rubbed my eyes. I just wanted to be home – then I decided to take a second look at those coins, hoping they would reveal some hint as to where I was. Roughly the size of a U.S. half-dollar, they were twice as heavy and gold in color. I turned one over in my fingers. On the heads side was a profile of a distinguished looking man. I squinted in the candlelight of the house to make out the faded words circling him: _The Empire is law_._ The law is sacred_. The tails side bared an embossed dragon with triangular wings. _Praise be Akatosh and all the Divines_, it read.

_What the Hell?_

A dragon did seem fitting given recent events, but I was still clueless. Perhaps even more so now. I set the coin down on the counter and was about to finally join the others for dinner before something caught my eye. I turned and on the wall behind the bar hung a worn mirror; its reflection stopped me.

I wouldn't have recognized myself if I had met the person in the mirror on the side of the road. Brown, puppy-dog eyes gazed at the scared and weary face in the reflection, and I swore to myself that it wasn't me. My shaggy, blond hair wasn't recognizable as my own, being matted to my head and caked with dirt. Again I ran my fingers through it in an attempt to unstick the scraggly mess. Although my face looked like someone had attempted to wipe it clean, dried lines of mud and blood stood out in various places. Light stubble had succeeded in covering my jaw, given three days of madness and no razor. I ran a palm over my cheek, wincing as my fingers trailed across a raw scrape bearing a thick cut at its center, just about the right size to match someone's heel . . . The skin surrounding the area was deeply bruised, making most of the right side of my face a yellowish-purple. I sighed at the sight of myself, in both acceptance and defeat, and succumbed to taking my seat at the table.

Gerdur had placed my food across from Aevaliin and next to Frodnar, who had eaten almost nothing. Aevaliin, on the other hand, was finished. Ralof and Gerdur were somewhere in the middle, and I dug into my food without hesitating, obeying the orders of my starving stomach. Gerdur had served us all some type of meat soup or stew, with thick, fluffy bread and – to my delight – wine. The food was delicious, and I attempted to complement Gerdur between shoveling soup into my mouth and inhaling bread.

"Thank you," she smiled after getting the gist of what I was trying to say.

"So . . ." said Ralof, leaning back in his chair, "Daniel, you said your name was?"

"Mm-hmm."

"That's an unusual name," he said slowly. "Where are you from, Daniel?"

It was odd hearing Ralof call me by my name rather than 'brother.'

"And why are you dressed so weird?" Frodnar blurted out. His question was the one that made me look up from my food.

"Frodnar!" Gerdur reproached. The boy frowned slightly and muttered an apology.

I raised an eyebrow and surveyed the people sitting around me, noticing that they were keenly awaiting my response. "I'm just not all that into leather," I shrugged. "And I'm from Boston. I thought 'Daniel' was a pretty common name?"

"Boston?" questioned Ralof.

_Seriously?_

"You know . . . Massachusetts . . ." I lead on.

"Massa-what?"

"You talk weird too," Frodnar said happily. Gerdur glared, but I got the feeling she agreed with him.

I pressed my first two fingers to my temple. "Um, you know, that state in New England. Home of the Red Sox. Plymouth Rock. Pilgrims first settled there," I listed, "Boston Tea Party? Boston Massacre? We have Harvard. Boston accents. You know, 'Pahk the cah in Hahvad yahd?' Home of the Bruins. Patriots. Celtics. Uh, started the Revolutionary War. Battles of Lexington and Concord? Paul Revere, 'The British are coming!' None of this ringing a bell?" I'd been expecting someone to cut in and say, _Oh, that's right! Boston, Massachusetts! Of course!_ But no. Only silence. I figured even if they weren't American they'd have heard of Boston.

After a long pause, it was Ralof who said, "Are you okay, brother?"

"Ugh!" I buried my face in my palms, letting my hair fall over my fingertips. "I'm never getting home," I groaned into my hands.

"I've never heard of this Boston," said Ralof, "or mass-of-shoe-wets you speak of."

"Massachusetts," I mumbled, correcting him. In other circumstances I would've laughed. I actually felt like I was going to from the insanity of this all.

"Have you?" he asked Gerdur.

"No," she shook her head calmly.

"It's in the United States . . ." I gave them another try.

"What states?"

My shock must've been blatant. ". . . of _America_."

"America?"

"Yes, America," I said, frustrated. "Land of the free, home of the brave?"

"Never heard of it," Ralof said casually.

"Never _'heard of it?!'_ How have you never _heard_ of it?" I pushed my chair away from the table and rose infuriatedly. "Not trying to be cocky or anything, but it's one of the better known countries on _Earth_!"

No one said a word as I exhaled exasperatedly. Finally it was Ralof who spoke up, seeming almost afraid to ask, "Earth?"

All my shock had been used up when he questioned America. I didn't have anything left to say to this. My energy sort of drained away as I looked from a curious Ralof to worried Gerdur, confused Frodnar to amused Aevaliin. She had her elbows on the table and was intently leaning forward on her folded hands, tracing my every move with those icy eyes. I felt myself weaken as my anger subsided, and a great pain ghosted into my leg and side. I sank back into my chair and leaned against the armrest, rewinding to when I'd first woken up in that tower.

"Dragons," I muttered. My eyes weren't with my current company anymore. "It'd been an actual dragon. It killed people, it breathed fire, it flew, it nearly killed me. Too real to be anything but real . . ." I spoke only to myself, "Dragons don't exist."

"That's what we all thought, too." Aevaliin's first words of the conversation. Calm, cold, and needed. My eyes came into focus on hers.

"No, you don't understand," I said to her. Cogs were turning in my brain. "Dragons _don't_ exist. Not where I'm from, not ever. And I don't believe that you're all just too illiterate to not have heard of America . . . or Earth . . ." What felt like an eternity ago, a crazy old woman broke into my apartment. I thought back to when she had laughed at my mention of bus tickets. _She was laughing at my naivety_. "She didn't drug me . . ."

"Brother?"

Slowly, an outrageous idea tore itself free from a cloudy cage I'd buried in the back of my mind.

"Ralof, I've been dying to ask you this," I said to him. I felt like I could handle his answer. "But where are we, what . . . _planet_?"

His brow furrowed as if the answer were common sense to him, just as the answer 'Earth' would be common sense to anyone back home. "Nirn," he assured me.

"Even I know that," Frodnar chimed in.

I laughed. I couldn't quite process what was happening, couldn't really handle Ralof's answer like I thought I could, so I just gulped the rest of the wine in my glass. It was really more like a goblet, and the only thing I could think of as I filled it up with more wine was _The Goblet of Fire_. This I chugged too, and a third filling . . . and a fourth. I would've easily guzzled a fifth but Gerdur took away the wine bottle with a frown.

"Oh well," I waved my hand at her, smiling, "four's enough to take off the edge. You are not going to believe this," I said slowly, "but I – I am from a different _planet_."

"You're _what_?" Aevaliin said skeptically, the first confusion I'd seen her express.

"That's right, beautiful," I poked the air in her direction, then put a finger to my lips. "Shh . . . don't tell Cheyenne."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're drunk."

"You came from the sky?" asked Frodnar in amazement.

"Sure, I mean, I dunno how that crazy old woman got me here I just know I'm not from here I'm from Earth," I patted him on the head. "_You're _all the aliens – this is gonna blow NASA's mind! But I have no fuckin' idea how I'm gettin' back. Maybe they can send a ship to come get me. Excuse my French. Oh wait you don't have French. Do you? What language do you have?"

"Well," Frodnar thought for a moment, "the Falmer have their own language."

"Great! Well excuse my Falmer," I said, ruffling his hair.

Frodnar laughed at the nonsense. "So you're a skywalker then," he declared, "if you're from the sky."

"Skywalker? No, no, leave that name to Anakin and his boy," I told him. "Wait, shit, you don't have a George Lucas here either do you, 'cuse my Falmer again." Frodnar shook his head. "You'd love Yoda, same size as you n'everything . . . alright if the title's open I'll take it. Jus' call me Danny Skywalker!"

**…**

**…**

**…**

* * *

_Yeah, I know there aren't outhouses in Skyrim. But a Nord's gotta do what a Nord's gotta_ _do.  
And I like to believe that if someone from Skyrim were referencing an alien, they'd call it a "skywalker," being the Nords they are._  
_If you disagree with that nonlogic, well, go tell it to Frodnar._  
_**Rudyeie**_


	4. Chapter IV

_**A/N: **The school year has started, I'm college searching and applying, so this story will be probably be moving along even slower than it already has been. Unfortunately I have to prioritize. I'll still shoot for a chapter a month, which is actually the rate I've been posting at; bear with me. Sorry this one took so long, and sorry for all the other chapters that will too. Just know that no matter how long it takes, I won't stop writing Drawn from Thence. I've fallen in love with these characters and their stories will be completed, if it's the last thing I do! Don't worry though, we're not even sort of near the end.  
Oh! And this chapter is over twice the length of the usual chapters I've written so far. Thirty-two pages in Word. Go nuts.  
_

* * *

**Chapter IV**

**"What was I supposed to tell him, that I'd brought my lethal firearm over from another planet?"**

**...**

**...**

**...**

_I'm so sick of waking up here._

My eyes flicked open and a harsh drumming pounded within my head. Shadows danced methodically on the sideways wall in front of me; I watched them with great interest as a thick grogginess sluggishly unraveled itself from my mind.

I found myself sprawled on my stomach, my left cheek pressed against a splintery wooden floor. The flames of the dying fire behind me were the source of the shadows' pirouette. Sorely I lifted my head, the movement unpleasant, and as I squinted into the darkened house I could distinguish Frodnar sleeping soundly. I pushed myself upward, feeling like someone had sewn bricks into my skin, and was unaware of the hushed tones behind me until they were suddenly silent. My neck felt incredibly stiff and I rubbed the back of it roughly as I turned to see Aevaliin and Ralof sitting at the table. The two stared down at me with a mix of emotions in their eyes and I sat like a lump on the floor, squinting up at them in the waning firelight.

"Hey . . ." I croaked, rubbing my eyes.

"Morning," said Ralof softly.

"What time is it?"

"Somewhere within the hour of four, I'd say."

"Of the same day?" I asked. My underlying question: _Was I unconscious through days, again?_

"Same day," he confirmed. "You've only been out for a few hours, which is surprising considering how much wine you drank, brother."

I looked into the fire, feeling ashamed. Bits and pieces of the night were scattered blurrily throughout my mind. I couldn't remember most of it, and usually when I woke up with memory loss it was a bad sign.

"Why am I on the floor?" I asked, feeling a little apprehensive about how I'd gotten there. At this Aevaliin laughed quietly.

"You sure were spewing nonsense," she said. Ralof puffed in agreement. "After having quite an _interesting_ conversation with Frodnar, you declared that you were going to take a walk in the sky. You then tripped and fell, either from your lame leg or drunkenness––probably both––muttered something about blowing up some star, and passed out."

"Oh yeah," I smiled, "we were talking about Star Wars." That statement was met with raised eyebrows; it was a look I was getting used to. "It's this great, classic movie series back home," I started, "about . . . ah, never mind." That would take too long. I'd probably have to explain the concept of a movie first anyway. I idly rubbed a hand along my roughened face, feeling the imprint the abrasive floor had left on my cheek. "Thanks for leaving me on the floor," I said bitterly after a moment.

Aevaliin was quick to counter, "I already carried you once."

"_What_––" I gaped.

"Besides," Ralof cut me off, "Gerdur was furious with some of the things you said to Frodnar last night, said if any of us tried to help you we'd be sleeping with the cows. I'm surprised she didn't throw you out there herself."

"Crap . . ." I muttered, then said regretfully, "I'm sorry, really. I'm not like that."

"You should be apologizing to my sister, _Danny Skywalker_," he mocked. Aevaliin smiled.

I rested an elbow on my knee and my chin in my palm. "Yup," I sighed, "that sounds familiar."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," said Ralof. "I've been in your place before, you know. Hod, too, even."

"I doubt that," I mumbled, thinking about the events of the past few days.

He ignored my remark and insisted, "Gerdur forgives."

"Who's Hod?" I asked after a minute.

"Gerdur's husband, Frodnar's father––"

"Oh, right," I remembered, "she mentioned him. Got sick or something."

"––He left for Whiterun a few days ago with Stump. Went to buy supplies from what Gerdur told me. Probably got caught up at the Bannered Mare . . ." Ralof mused. He was talking more to himself than me. Still, I couldn't resist the urge to have my questions answered.

"Alright," I nodded, ". . . what are all those things you just said?"

"Right," said Ralof, chuckling slightly. "I forgot you're not," he hesitated, "from here."

"Whiterun is a city upriver from here," Aevaliin cut in, a hint of annoyance in her tone. "White walls, you can't miss it. It's the center of trade in Skyrim, which is the province we're in, located in the northern part of the continent of Tamriel. On the planet of Nirn, in case you forgot. The Bannered Mare is an inn in Whiterun where they serve weak mead. Stump is Frodnar's hound."

Ralof looked impressed, then grew slightly offended. "Their mead is delicious!" he exclaimed, causing me to wince. His volume made the drums in my head try to outdo him.

"Shh!" I said from the floor, pinching the bridge of my nose. "You're gonna wake everybody up."

The two eyed me before Aevaliin said to him, "Clearly you've never had a drink in Cyrodiil." Ralof's brow furrowed and he looked like he'd been beat. Aevaliin turned to answer my question before I could ask it, saying, "It's the province just south of here."

"Impressive," said Ralof after a moment, "but how do you know all that about Skyrim? You told me you were from Cyrodiil. And that's how you ended up in Helgen, ambushed crossing the border by those Imperial dogs. I was there, remember?"

"They're not _dogs_," she said agitatedly. "Andwhat, a person can't read a book? Look at a map?" Ralof put his hands up in defense and as a quick attempt to calm her.

"I meant no offense," he said earnestly. "But you're going to defend the people who almost had your head?"

"You think I wouldn't defend the Empire, being from Cyrodiil?" she snapped. Her slight accent was becoming noticeable. "I don't know how you skeever-brain Stormcloaks have made it this far in the war."

"Don't you start with me, or––"

"––Or what, are you going to Shout me to bits like Ulfric did to Torygg?"

"Ulfric honorably challenged Torygg; he killed him with his sword! Agh!" Ralof rubbed his hands over his face. "You Imperials are maddening. Torygg was weak, and Tullius is weaker. The Empire isn't what it used to be and Skyrim doesn't need it."

"What Skyrim doesn't need is a bunch of hot-headed Nords discriminating against her people."

"And by 'her people' I suppose you mean the elves? The same elves that burned down the Imperial City? _Your_ Imperial City. And you want to defend them? You don't know what Skyrim needs, why don't you go back to Cyrodiil where you belong."

Ralof crossed a line. The look on Aevaliin's face became one of a deep sorrow masked by utter fierceness. Her next words were spoken slowly and cuttingly. "I know what Skyrim needs because I lived here for seven _years_ after my father died fighting the Thalmor in the capital. I have nothing against elves, but the Thalmor can rot in Oblivion."

There was silence among us. A log split in the deepening fire to my right and a shower of crimson sparks were thrown into the air. I wished desperately that I knew what they were talking about.

"At least we can agree on that," Ralof said after a long stillness. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," Aevaliin snapped. I could tell she wasn't one to let things slide.

"Someone want to explain to me what's going on?" I said. The two looked down at me from the table like they'd forgotten I was there. I'd even gotten lost in the moment listening to their arguing. "Maybe I can help mediate things. You two sound like you could use a third party."

Ralof sighed. "Come take a seat, brother. This could take a while."

Getting to my feet was harder than I anticipated. I fell back on my ass with the first try, and with my second attempt I staggered forward onto my knee. Something in my head wasn't quite right as I could not keep my balance without retaining a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the table, which I used to pull myself upright. With standing came a blinding, white dizziness and the feeling that someone had smashed the back of my head in with a hammer. I clutched at the throbbing source of the pain––a pain powerful enough to finally override the agony of my leg––and my ears rung stridently.

The effects of that bizarre episode lasted for a few minutes before washing away. I felt again the wood of the tabletop beneath my palm and came to realize I was partially lying on the table. Aevaliin had a hand on my shoulder, her concerned face coming into focus, and Ralof's heavy voice worked through the ringing of my ears.

"_Daniel_?" One of their voices abruptly reached me. I pushed myself upright, standing cautiously, the nausea having passed. Aevaliin didn't take her hand off my shoulder.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, pushing my fingers through my hair, "that was weird." I pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. "You guys wouldn't happen to have doctors on this planet, would you?"

"What you need is an alchemist," said Ralof.

"I'd really rather see a doctor . . ."

"Could fix you up in an instant with the right potion. Or surely someone at the College of Winterhold would help you," he continued. "Maybe even be able to figure out how you got here, assuming you're not a lying blowhard."

"Really?" That piqued my interest. "Where's that? And no, I'm not a liar. Well, I can't guarantee everything I said last night was true, I'm really not sure at all about what I said to Frodnar . . . But, as weird as it is to say––" the words were a force, "––I'm not from this planet."

"Well it's weird to hear, too," Ralof said. "Not many people are going to believe you if you run around Skyrim saying things like that. By Ysmir, I don't know why I do. I guess something about you just rang true. And the College of Winterhold is, well, in Winterhold. Very far north of here. Dress warmer if you go."

"Ralof makes a good point," said Aevaliin. "If it ever comes up, just say you're an adventurer."

"So you believe me too?"

"For some reason," she sighed. "Maybe it's because you just seemed so . . . desperate."

"That's it!" affirmed Ralof.

"I'm not desperate," I said peevishly.

"Really? Head down the road and see how far you get, Skywalker," Ralof challenged.

I frowned. "Weren't you two going to tell me about some elves or something?"

"Yes, the war. I suppose we should get on with that," said Ralof. He looked to Aevaliin. "Where to start?"

"Beginning of the Era, I'd say. It all really started with those wretched Thalmor . . ."

And so I learned about what was called The Great War. In the beginning of the Fourth Era––_these people have the weirdest method of keeping time, as far as I care it's still 2013_––the Empire was apparently in chaos. Tamriel was left with no emperor after the death of some guy named Martin, who had the most normal name I'd heard in a while. Black Marsh seceded from the Empire and a volcano named Red Mountain erupted in Vvardenfell, after which the Argonians occupied Morrowind. The Thalmor came over to the mainland from Summerset Isle, invaded Valenwood, and subsequently reestablished the empire of the Aldmeri Dominion. They soon moved into the nearby province of Elsweyr, where all Imperial influence was eventually lost. The Empire was weakened further, not to mention the civil war raging in Hammerfell. That lovely mess of a nation was inherited by Titus Mede II, and only three years after he took the throne did the escalating Thalmor give him an ultimatum.

The Thalmor, I was told, were made up entirely of the Altmer of Summerset Isle, and were the political party that governed the Aldmeri Dominion––the current Dominion being made up of Altmer, Bosmer, and Khajiit. The Thalmor believed they were superior to all; ultimately they wanted to unite Tamriel under their strict and prejudiced rule.

The ultimatum—in the year 171, an ambassador of the Aldmeri Dominion brought a gift concealed in a cart to Titus II along with a list of Thalmor demands: the Blades would be disbanded, the worship of Talos prohibited, and the majority of Hammerfell would be turned over to the Dominion. Of course the Emperor rejected the ultimatum, and the Thalmor ambassador tipped over the "gift." Out spilled the heads of every Blades agent within the Dominion. It was an act of war.

Days later, Thalmor armies poured into Cyrodiil and Hammerfell. The Aldmeri Dominion's original plan was to pin down Imperial troops in Cyrodiil while Hammerfell was overrun. But town by town, city by city, Cyrodiil crumbled rapidly beneath the relentless Thalmor armies. The Dominion changed plans––their new objective being the destruction of the feeble Empire all together. Before long they reached the capital, forcing Titus II to flee the Imperial City with his main army, but of course there were those soldiers who stayed behind––and those citizens who were _left_ behind. Among them: a fearless Imperial who gave his life so that his family could escape. Among them: a young girl named Aevaliin, with a brother slightly older than she and a mother who would forever grieve her beloved husband's demise. The Thalmor committed unspeakable crimes upon the defenseless people of the city.

Ralof picked up the story from there; a shadow crossed Aevaliin's features and she spoke no more of the matter.

The Emperor fled, a wise but excruciating choice, his people left abandoned during the mighty Empire's darkest hour. Titus and his remaining army headed north to mobilize with troops that were marching south from Skyrim; they combined forces with troops from Hammerfell and together surrounded the Imperial City. In what was known as the Battle of the Red Ring, the Empire retook its homeland. The Thalmor were taken by surprise and after a long and bloody battle it was recognized that Titus's initial decision to flee his capital was not made in vain. The Aldmeri Dominion's forces in Cyrodiil were obliterated.

Soon after, the Empire signed a peace treaty with the Aldmeri Dominion that became known as the White-Gold Concordat. Exhausted from war, Titus II felt that this would be the best way for the Empire to rebuild and recuperate. The terms of the White-Gold Concordat, however, were almost identical to the terms that the Emperor refused at the start of the war. Titus Mede II signed away the right to worship Talos, along with the allied Hammerfell. The Redguards were infuriated and fought the Thalmor to a standstill in defense of their country; they would not fall into the hands of the Dominion and battled until they became an independent province. By the end of the Great War, Morrowind and Black Marsh belonged to the Argonians; Valenwood, Elsweyr, and Summerset Isle were of the Aldmeri Dominion; Hammerfell was an independent nation; Cyrodiil and High Rock persevered with the Empire, and Skyrim had erupted in civil war.

Some say High King Torygg would've seceded if the Jarl of Windhelm had only asked, but Ulfric marched into Solitude that bleak day of Morning Star not with a request––with a challenge. It was an old Nord tradition, Ralof told me. Anyone could challenge the High King to one-on-one combat if they felt he was unfit for the position and unable to defend his people. If the High King denied the challenge, he would ultimately be branded a coward and removed from the throne. Young Torygg of course accepted Ulfric's challenge with a mighty courage and immeasurable honor, knowing very well he was outmatched. The fight was to the death, and Sovngarde beckoned. A grief-stricken and widowed Elisif the Fair became the Jarl of Solitude upon Torygg's passing.

A Stormcloak would tell you that Ulfric used the Thu'um to throw Torygg off-balance and then dispatch of the High King with his sword. An Imperial would tell you otherwise: that the raw power of Ulfric's Voice ripped through Torygg until he simply ceased to be. Either way, the Empire saw Ulfric's triumph not as one of honor, but of treason, and General Tullius wanted him for murder. Jarl Ulfric had many followers however––an army, in fact––that would stop at nothing to liberate the Nordic land of Skyrim.

Aevaliin and Ralof argued for a long time after enlightening me with the country's sorrowful history. Their fighting got so bad that at some point in the early morning I found myself sitting cross-legged on the table between the two, making an earnest effort to keep the peace and prevent them from physically hurting one another. Both were passionate about their cause, and I could respect that, but at some point or another enough is enough.

"Okay, stop it, just stop _fighting_," I hissed, pressing my fingers to my temples. The drumming had never fully ceased since I'd woken up. It had dulled here and there, but by no means was my mind at peace. Although Aevaliin and Ralof were trying to stay hushed with their bickering it was impossible for them to keep their voices from sharply rising at times, and with the sudden increase in volume there was a steady thunder of drumrolls in my head.

"_Shut up!_" I snarled. "You two are _maddening_. Learn how to debate, for goodness' sake. Enough of this barking over each other like either of you is going to convince the other that they're wrong. And Ralof, kudos to you for having the _heaviest_ sleeping family on the face of the Earth!"

"_Nirn!_" they snapped at me simultaneously.

"Whatever!" I rubbed my eyes, grateful for the space of silence they'd allowed to slip in between their quarrelling. When I looked up the two were watching me intently, and I realized they were waiting for me to determine who was right. I took another moment to breathe, noticing the thin, pale light that was working its way through the frosted windows of the home. The fire had burned itself out by now. Dawn.

"_Well_," pressed Aevaliin. "You said you were going to mediate, and so far you've done _nothing_."

I raked my fingers through my hair. "Even if I wanted to say anything, it would've been impossible to over your childish bickering." She opened her mouth to refute me but decided against it, perhaps taking my comment to heart. I might've felt a pang of guilt had I not been suffering such a tormenting headache. "Now these elven races," I said, leaning my forehead against my fingertips, "they're the Altmer, Bretons, and Dunmer?"

"Altmer, _Bosmer_, and Dunmer," Ralof corrected. "Bretons are natives of High Rock with the Orcs."

"The elves are the _Mer_ people," Aevaliin said tensely, "their names all end in _–mer_. It's not complicated."

"Well I'm sorry I'm not familiar with these races," I said. "Where I come from there's humans like you and me, that's all. Our cats don't talk, our lizards don't walk, and the only elves we have are the ones who keep Santa company in the North Pole––as in, _we don't have any_. Now would you lighten up and have some patience with me? I didn't exactly come here voluntarily, you know."

"Where do you get off saying that? You wouldn't be alive if it weren't for me. I didn't _exactly_ have to carry you from Helgen to Riverwood. I did it _voluntarily_ because for reasons unknown, some part of me actually cared about you!" She rose from the table and her eyes flashed with fury. For an instant I swore I saw red in them. "I can see now I made the wrong judgment. I won't waste time caring again," she said coldly, and with that was pulling on the door handle. "Could be half way to Solitude by now . . ." I heard her mutter, and as she stepped into a frigid dawn the door slammed shut behind her. The noise wasn't as painful as her words.

A thick silence filled the house. Frodnar stirred. I sat dumbfounded on the tabletop, my mouth agape, and looked to Ralof after being able to finally tear my eyes from the door. He had his elbows on the table and was resting his chin on folded knuckles, eyes as wide as mine must've been. "What did I do?"

He shrugged half-heartedly. "And I thought _I_ pissed her off. You might want to go fix this, brother."

I sighed tiredly––he was right. I had to fight off every shred of pain that stung my body as I slid myself from the table. The light snoring I could distinguish told me that Frodnar had indeed fallen back asleep and I didn't want to wake him; the door closed soundlessly behind me.

Dawn was not beautiful here. It didn't fill the misty clouds with pink and orange hues like it did above Boston Harbor. The sun didn't gently peek over the horizon, its rays soaking everything they touched with life. It would be a long time before the sun made it over the mountain tops here, and the dawn was a seeping grey. A grey frost blanketed the grey ground. It burned my linen-wrapped feet, and in the colorlessness of the morning an equally washed-out figure could be seen marching down a dreary road, her pallid hair blowing icily with the dawn's frosty breath.

"Aevaliin!" I shouted, a puff of raw air following the name. My voice echoed off the bitter mountain walls surrounding Riverwood. She didn't stop walking but shot a cold glare at me over her shoulder. "Wait!" I called.

She didn't. So I ran––by some miracle that temporarily vanquished the pain in my leg, I ran. As I raced to catch up with her I realized that the pain wasn't the entire problem with my thigh, for even without the ache I still ran with a stagger. Running probably wasn't my smartest idea, given my condition, but when a girl walks away you chase her.

By the time I caught up with Aevaliin I was gasping for air, despite the fact that even an ant wouldn't have defined the distance I ran as far. With a rough hand I grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, irritated with her short temper, but before I could get a word out––as if an inner dam had burst––the pain surged back into my leg and side. It took all the strength I had left not to crumple to the cobblestones; with one hand I gripped at the fire in my ribs and with the other I leaned forward on my knee, sucking in delicate air through clamped teeth. She didn't try to leave, though.

Rather she clutched a fistful of my collar in her small hand and hoisted me upward, surprisingly strong for her size; I suppose she had to be if what she said about carrying me was true. I shuffled slightly under her grasp––struggling to keep my balance with my right leg––and her eyes flicked between mine, appearing silver in this morning that sucked the color from the world. Her lips pursed, a slight frown rippled her brow as the wind rippled her hair, but her expression remained unreadable. I couldn't help but wonder . . .

"What are you thinking?"

Only through a slight softening of her eyes could I tell that my sudden question caught her off guard. The frost gnawed at my toes and fingertips and my bare arms went unprotected against the harsh wind that rolled down the mountains. My t-shirt offered no resistance from the cold. I gritted my teeth to keep them from chattering. I didn't expect a response.

"I'm thinking . . . about my brother," she said, slowly releasing her grip from my shirt. My bewilderment amused her and I waited for her to explain, the wind pushing my hair forward. "I was always tougher than him too," she said with a slim smile as she made her way past me, back toward Gerdur's house. "Come on, you're freezing."

_I will never understand women_, I thought as I trailed her, an unexpected grin breaking through the layer of frost materializing on my face.

"You're not tougher than me," I called to her.

"You wanna bet?" she threatened over her shoulder.

"Not really," I admitted, and I heard her laugh; a refreshing sound after enduring her resentment. I almost felt comfortable enough to ask why she had gotten so angry in the first place . . . but not quite. I held my tongue. I didn't want to risk setting her off again––still though, I was puzzled about something. "Why try to hide that you lived here?"

With that Aevaliin slowed her pace, allowing my limping self to catch up. "Why does that know-nothing Nord need to hear about my life?" she said defensively when I was next to her.

I shrugged. "I just figured, could've avoided a fight."

"No. We still would've fought, and we still did. That's what people do here, Daniel. We fight. And it'd be wise of you to learn how."

I wondered for a second if she simply meant arguing, then decided she didn't.

"I can fight," I said as confidently as I'd said that I wasn't desperate. I'd gotten into many a bar fight anyway.

"With a weapon?" I did not think she was referring to guns. I didn't ask.

I brushed off her question. "So you're telling me that people here just go around fighting each other?"

She nodded. "That doesn't happen where you're from?"

"Well, no. I mean, it does, just . . . differently."

"How do you know if it's different if you don't even know what it's like?"

I sighed and watched my breath solidify in the cold. There was no getting around this girl. We kept a slow pace going up the road to Gerdur's as a weak and grey silence worked its way between us.

"How did you come to be here?" Aevaliin eventually asked me.

"I already explained that."

"Not very well."

"Well next time you find yourself on a different planet," I'd never get used to the words: _different planet_, "be sure to let me know of your methods on how to go about telling people."

"Who's Cheyenne?" she asked out of nowhere.

"What?" I stopped abruptly, the question having startled me. My mind and face drained as I stammered, "When did––how do you know her?"

Aevaliin cut short her stride and turned to face me. "I don't," she said, her eyes asking the million questions I could tell she held back. "You mentioned her last night."

"I did?" I ran a hand through my frozen hair. "What––what did I say?"

As if I had an instant's insight into her thoughts, I could suddenly read one of the questions that swam through the cloudy sea of her eyes. _Why does this bother you so much?_

Was I that see-through?

"You said . . ." she hesitated, "you said nothing. You didn't say anything about her. Her name just came up at one point in your drunken nonsense."

"Are you sure?" I asked sternly.

"Yes. Who is she?"

I continued walking, my shoulder dipping with every step. "No one."

Aevaliin followed me, quickly at my side once again. "Obviously she's someone."

"No."

"_Yes_."

"Why do you care?" I snapped, whirling to face her. The angry breath I exhaled through my nose condensed and dispersed within a moment. Aevaliin had no answer and looked taken aback. I continued staggering up the road. She lingered.

"I care, Daniel, because you're as much of a mystery to me as I am to you."

I could tell by her almost pleading tone that it was something she hadn't wanted to admit. I paused, the underlying honesty that complemented her voice cutting deep. This walk was taking longer than it should. When Aevaliin had nothing to add I turned to face her, gripping my own arms in the bitter cold. Water brimmed in my eyes from the arctic breeze that flowed through the valley.

"I can pick up on more than you know," she said, stepping toward me. Her hair blew into her face and with one hand she tucked some of it behind her ear. She held her face only inches from mine when she told me softly, "It's why I believe you, after all." The wind swept her words away with each syllable spoken.

I felt unaffected and empty by her attempt to unearth me. A wound was reopening deep within my chest and my eyes certainly showed it; I was left shaken with her mention of Cheyenne. It had been years ago––worlds away––the thought of her shouldn't have bothered me so intensely anymore, should it? I didn't want to find any justification for the shadow that hung over me as I painfully trailed Aevaliin up the road.

My spirits lifted when I saw that Ralof had rekindled the fire in the home. I threw myself on the floor in front of it, unable to get close enough to the precious flames. The precious distraction.

"You two make up, eh?" asked Ralof, raising an eyebrow. I wasn't sure that he meant for the question to sound suggestive, but, well, it did. To me anyway. I let the flames lick my palms in a hopeless attempt to thaw myself as I glanced over my shoulder. Aevaliin took her seat back at the table and shot a deathly glare at Ralof. I guess she detected the suggestiveness as well––just not Ralof's ignorance. She certainly was a masterful glarer, that girl. "Is that a 'No' . . . ?" he persisted.

Ralof didn't know when to quit. "We're fine," I said numbly to the fire, willing my body to warm up.

"Excellent," he said, "it's best to avoid conflict."

"What do you mean?" I said flatly. "You two have been at odds all night."

"All in good fun," he assured me. _Didn't seem like it_, I thought sourly, not having the energy to argue my thoughts aloud.

"Actually," Aevaliin mused, leaning back in her chair, "let's talk about the war again." I supposed the word 'fun' meant something different on this planet.

"You want to get back at it, lass?" Ralof said with a gleam in his eye. He was beginning to irk me––the seed of emotion that planted itself in my stomach that morning would be foreign to me for a long time to come.

"No. I want to hear what Daniel thinks."

_Whyyyyy._

"I don't think anything," I said shortly, turning my face to the flames whose warmth I was just beginning to feel. All I wanted was to be left with my thoughts.

"Nonsense," scoffed Ralof. "Surely you must agree with one side."

"No. You're both wrong," I muttered, hugging my knees to my chest.

"How so?" threatened Aevaliin, her tone urging me to face her as I criticized her cause. I spun around and let the fire defrost my back.

"Well, if you insist . . ." I said, looking first to Ralof. "To start, I don't agree with Ghoul-Freak—"

"_—Ulfric._"

"—Ulfric killing that Turn-Frig guy."

"_Torygg_."

"Torygg. I mean, who cares if he yelled at him or cut his head off? I think either way you look at it it's wrong. You don't just go killing your leader, even if he is a dumbass."

"You sound like an Imperial!" said Ralof, torn between laughter and anger. "Torygg needed to go."

"Then vote on it or something, have him impeached, put him in jail, ask him to step down. I don't know what you guys do around here but isn't a duel a bit barbaric?"

"Why speak of peaches at a time like this?"

"Is that _all_ you got from what I just said? _Peaches_!" I groaned, then went on. "And frankly, these Stormcloaks do sound kinda racist."

"_We're not racist!_" yelled Ralof. A powerful bass drum kicked up to keep beat with the pulse in the back of my head. I tried to tell him, "_Shh!_" as I rubbed my eyes, but he rambled on about all sorts of things that I didn't care about. "The Dunmer can live anywhere they want. You think they're forced to live in the Gray Quarter? The Argonians too! It's not like they can't move out, those lizards are everywhere. And those thieving Khajiit are allowed in no city, it's not just Windhelm. We're fighting for the liberation of Skyrim from the _Thalmor_, not the other races! True sons and daughters of Skyrim would understand."

I leaned my head heavily in the palm of my hand. "No, see, that's what I mean. That whole 'sons of Skyrim' thing. You just . . . agh, forget it." I was losing interest and Ralof waved an angry hand at me as if to say, _'You know nothing!'_

"So what's wrong with the Empire, then?" asked Aevaliin, who had been watching Ralof and me go back and forth with amusement.

I let out a breath of air. "Siding with the Thalmor was a big mistake; you guys probably could've won if you kept fighting, from what you two have told me. And banning a religion? You just can't do that. People would be up in arms where I come from if that was going on. You shouldn't have signed away your Hammer-Nail allies, that was stupid—"

"—_Hammerfell_."

"Yeah, sure," I quickly agreed. "Really it seems like that White-Hot Concordat is the cause of all your problems."

"It's White-Gold—"

"It _should_ be white chocolate," I said.

"—and I agree with you," finished Aevaliin.

"Really?" I said, surprised. "Well, that was easier." I eyed Ralof who still wore a scowl. "If you agree with me then why do you support the Empire?"

"I value loyalty," she said simply. I got the feeling there was a story behind that statement, but again I found myself withholding my questions from her. "Titus Mede should have vowed to destroy the Thalmor the moment that bastard ambassador upturned that cart."

"Aye," Ralof approved.

"Those were the Blades, right?"

"A name you remembered," Aevaliin congratulated.

I shrugged and said, "That one was simpler." The fire was beginning to get too hot on my back and I could feel beads of sweat forming on the back of my neck. With the help of the fireplace mantel I sluggishly got to my feet and stretched, cracking my wrists. A buzzing whiteness worked at the corners of my eyes but didn't overpower me like it previously had; my head swirled for a moment before I was fine once again, this episode not nearly as debilitating as the last. Maybe I was getting better. Maybe I was lucky.

The sun continued its ascent but had not yet broken over the mountain tops; the light that filled the house was still washed-out although it took on a lighter shade of pale. "I remember their name," I said slowly, "but not what they did. Why do the Thalmor care so much about the Blades?"

"They were devout followers of Talos," explained Ralof, "which made them natural enemies of the Aldmeri Dominion."

"Why does the Dominion hate Talos?"

"They think they're so superior," said Aevaliin, "that a man being worshipped as a god is absurd to them. Absurd enough to start a war, apparently."

"That's absurd in itself," I said. "So are all Talos worshippers called Blades? Is that like the name of the religious group . . . ?"

"No, no," Ralof laughed heartily at the thought. "The Blades are much more than that. They're dragon hunters. Or . . . they _were_. I'm not sure any agents still exist; they may have been wiped out by the Thalmor. Legend has it that the Blades were sworn protectors of the Dragonborn, too."

_Dragonborn!_

"That! _That_!" I nearly shouted, jumping and pointing, unable to contain myself at this revelation. "_She called me that! _Dragonborn!"

I was met with confused expressions and something along the lines of, "What are you talking about?" I didn't quite catch the question through my outburst.

"The—the old lady who broke into my apartment and did some weird chanting and sent me here! She called me _Dragonborn_. What _is it_?!"

I breathed excitedly as I waited for an answer, my eyes flicking between Aevaliin's and Ralof's, both of whom seemed deep in thought.

"Dragonborn . . ." said Aevaliin slowly, keeping her eyes locked on mine, "is a person who is born with the soul of a dragon . . . and is also the greatest dragon _hunter_." She curiously looked me up and down after saying that last part.

It wasn't quite the answer I'd been hoping for and I think my face showed it.

"The Dragonborn can also absorb the soul of any defeated dragon and master the Thu'um through it," Ralof pondered with eyes cast-off, and then he looked up at Aevaliin, "right?"

She nodded. "That's what I've been told. But there hasn't been a Dragonborn since . . . Tiber Septim?"

"I'm not sure I believe Tiber Septim was Dragonborn. That would've made Martin Septim Dragonborn as well."

"Not necessarily, but there haven't been dragons since—"

"_Guys_!" I cut in. "Can I please have an explanation? What does this _mean_?" I dragged a hand through my tangled hair then scratched impatiently at the stubble on my cheek as I searched their eyes for an answer, for anything. It quickly dawned on me that they were as clueless as I was.

I felt dizzy again and leaned despairingly against the wall next to the fireplace. Finally _something_, yet still nothing. I didn't realize I'd had my hopes up. I never knew until then how _much_ I'd truly wanted to be home, and the pain of the realization cut deep, reminding me of Cheyenne.

"What is all this about souls?" I asked dully in an attempt to think of something else. "And Thu'um?"

I _was_ see-through. I could tell by Aevaliin's deep-sea stare that she knew my thoughts were elsewhere—far, far away. My mind found its way back to a sultry August night in Boston where people were satisfied with life, drifting about on the sidewalks, drinking in bars, listening to street performers, watching the Red Sox, and just _being_ with one another. And I could hear the sirens again: a sound so sharp and immense that it seemed to infuse itself with the humid air, haunting and immutable. I would've spiraled into a painful reliving of that night had it not been for a knock on the door that pulled me back to this thing I called reality. Even as I watched Ralof rise from the table the sirens never ceased—another knock, fiercer, impatient—wailing and wailing, warning of an inevitable, imminent danger. He opened the door.

The morning flowed into the house as Ralof was met with a particular group of people. Two large and soldierly-looking figures filled the doorway. The one who knocked—and who appeared to be in charge—kept his gloved hand wrapped around the pommel of the sword at his belt while the other, who was careful to keep his distance, had his blade drawn and held it in a defensive manner. Beneath the ragged yellow garment that draped over each guard's torso was tarnished chainmail; both donned identical helmets that kept their heads and faces concealed. Through two dark holes in the front of their helmets the pair could look out at us, but nothing could be distinguished of them. In the left hand of each was a thick wooden shield: the same yellow shield I'd noticed the night before where the swooping profile of a horse was carved on its front.

Beside the soldier who knocked stood a dark-skinned woman who kept her head down, eyes high, and hands tucked away in the pockets of the faded blue robe that flowed over her body. Her head was covered by a tanned and worn hood that draped to her shoulders. She showed no sign of possessing a weapon. From where I leaned by the fireplace I could make out one more pair of legs behind those of the group in the doorway; a fourth person was with them who stayed out of sight.

I glanced at Aevaliin still sitting at the table. An expression of recognition and resentment flashed across her face as I heard Ralof ask shortly, "Can I help you?"

Goosebumps rose on my arms from the cold air pouring through the open door and I tightly crossed my arms over my chest, moving in front of the fire so the back of my legs felt the flames' dying warmth. Before anyone could answer him, Aevaliin in one motion rose from the table and pointed sharply at the blue-robed woman.

"_You_," she said with a tone of accusation and disgust. She was by Ralof's side in an instant, her finger in the face of the woman. "_You_ are the one who ruined my hunt last night." I watched her hand curl around the handle of the short blade at her side. "Trailed me for hours going on and on about the threats of vampires and Daedra. You think I can't handle myself? What gives you the right to—"

"You don't understand," the woman said calmly, her face unreadable.

"_Don't understand_?"

_She gets so angry, so fast._ I swore Aevaliin was only one more remark from pulling that blade from her belt.

"Please," the head guard cut in. He had a deep, heavily accented voice. "We're not here for a fight—"

"Then why's your buddy got his sword drawn?" Ralof retorted. He clearly wasn't fond of their presence either.

The guard looked over his shoulder and motioned with his hand. "Sheath your weapon," he ordered, and his comrade reluctantly put away his sword.

"What business do you have here?" demanded Ralof.

"We are conducting an investigation," the guard explained. "We have two eyewitness accounts of powerful Daedric activity that took place only a few nights ago. Customarily, Hold guards do not engage in the affairs of Daedra, but if citizens are in danger—and based off of the statements of our witnesses, there _is_ a threat—it is necessary to investigate."

I left the warmth of the fire to stand with Aevaliin and Ralof at the door.

"Well, I can assure you," said Ralof, "there are no Daedra . . . here . . ." he trailed off, slowly turning to me as a look of suspicion crossed his face.

"What's going on?" I asked curiously as I put my hands in my pockets, not understanding much of what was happening. I was reminded of my gun by the cold, smooth metal my fingers brushed across.

That was when I caught the eye of the mysterious fourth member of the group. His dark and pained stare cut into me as I chokingly remembered who he was. My stomach tightened. He'd looked different in the moonlight. He'd looked different when I was so near to death. My eyes fell from his gaze to the taunting cobalt amulet that hung around his neck.

"_You!_" he cried, shoving angrily through the guards and robed woman. I took a few steps backward in a lame retreat as he charged at me, screaming, "You killed me brother!"

_Shit_.

He threw himself at me. The force of his solid, stout body crashed into my gut like a cannonball and the next thing I felt was the _crack_ of my head as it snapped to the floor. I lay limp, blinded by the white-lightning pain that shot through the back of my skull, aware of meaty and merciless fingers curling around my throat, nails digging through my skin, crushing any hope of air or life as he slammed my head repeatedly, repeatedly into the floor until I couldn't even think, could not breathe but only flail desperately and blindly until my hand latched onto something and I held on for all it was worth, needing it to be enough to make him stop.

. . . _Killed him! I'm gonna send you back to Oblivion where you belong, you damned, Daedric scum!_

Glaring pain faded into a numbing darkness that seemed oddly warm and familiar. The thrashing of my head blurred into one painless, floating sensation where I didn't need to breathe or think, and in that moment I was at peace . . .

It didn't last long.

I was ripped back to life by a violent tearing at my neck—the nails of my would-be murderer being clawed away—and in the next instant his weight vanished from my body.

I rolled dazedly to my side, sucking in air and immediately coughing it back out, an agonizing heaving process that tightened my chest to the point where it felt like I was being strangled again. I couldn't see straight; the room rolled in slow-motion and every few seconds my vision blackened. It confused and alarmed me until I realized I was blinking. As if rocks were raining onto me with every breath, my head pounded agonizingly; my skull seemed to expand and contract with each heartbeat. My eyes hurt in the strange way they might after having them crossed for too long or trying to read something up close, only tenfold.

There was an odd pinching sensation in my palm and it took me a while to find my own hand through my kaleidoscopic vision, but when I finally did I saw that my own nails were digging into my skin from the strength of the grip I had on something. I willed my fingers to loosen, and revealed to me was the sapphire amulet . . . at last back in my possession. It gave me hope. I'd torn it right from the thief's neck. With that thought I looked up to see where he'd gone and to find Aevaliin: I had to show her.

Trying to focus my eyes on something new resulted in a wild, jumpy, spiraling effect, as if trying to play a lagging videogame while high. I caught a glimpse of Aevaliin but she spun out of focus and I desperately searched through my reeling vision for her again. I saw three different Ralofs and the blue-clothed woman before finding Aevaliin once more; I made a concentrated effort to keep my eyes locked on her and—although she drifted a bit—she never vanished.

I tried to hold up the amulet to her but she was preoccupied, not looking in my direction. With a longer degree of focus I became aware that she had the burly thug pinned beneath her, a knee to his chest, and she unnervingly pressed a blade to his throat. She bared her teeth in the way that a wolf might with fangs threatening, practically daring her captive to move.

Slowly I sat up, making every effort to keep the spinning to a minimal. "Aevaliin," I said weakly, my voice raspy and sore. Her cold eyes flicked to mine and I extended my arm, revealing the amulet that dangled from my tightly closed hand. I coughed slightly.

Her eyes widened into an expression of disbelief, recognition, confusion. "Where did you get that . . ." she whispered. I had no answer.

The criminal beneath her seized his opportunity with Aevaliin's momentary distraction. In one motion he tore the knife from her grasp, flipped her onto her back, and had her pinned to the floor. He leaned into his forearm which was shoved against her neck. Aevaliin furiously writhed beneath him but with the differences in weight and size, and without the advantage, there was not much she could do.

I scrambled to get to my feet, to save her in the way she'd saved me, but dizziness overtook me. It was infuriating, being so incapable and useless. I could do nothing but feel my knees give out and fall back to the floor, forcing my way through the blazing whiteness that blocked out all sights and sounds and orientation. My head felt on the verge of exploding.

The vertigo receded in time for me to see Aevaliin throw one solid punch to the nose of the thug who was now being restrained by Ralof and a guard. It was enough to snap his head back and piss him off. He flailed wildly like a spoiled child being dragged from the playground by his parent, kicking and thrashing, but Ralof and the guard held fast, yelling at him all the while. Aevaliin stood just out of reach of his kicks and rubbed sorely at the front of her neck, suppressing her wince with a glare.

She turned to me as I was making a second attempt to stand and offered me her hand; I closed mine around hers and she pulled me to my feet. I swayed uneasily—head throbbing, room tilting—and Aevaliin put a hand on my shoulder, trying to steady me. The dark-skinned woman still stood just outside, not daring to enter the crazy house that was now as cold as the morning. The second guard was nowhere to be seen, but I noticed to my left that Gerdur and Frodnar had finally woken up and joined the procession, careful to stand away from all the commotion. Gerdur kept an arm wrapped protectively around her son.

"You're not alright," Aevaliin said, eyeing me worriedly.

"What gave it away?" I said raspily, trying to smile through the pain. It was forced, and she noticed. I offered her the amulet, letting my fake smile fade but glad to finally fulfill the wish of the woman who put me here. "This is yours," I told her. "Take it."

She did.

The thief thrashed about some more in Ralof's and the guard's grasp. "Rgh!" he groaned. "I'm not the one you want. _He's the Daedra_," he insisted, nodding in my direction. "I told you 'bout the magicka he used to attack us, ask the Vigil! She saw it too. He killed me brother with it. Arrest him! Or—or check his leg! I told you 'bout the wounds he had, only a Daedra coulda lived through it. He had a chunk of wood through his leg. Look! You can see the wound from here. I'm tellin' ya! Let go of me!"

_What the Hell is a Daedra?_

"What's going on?" I whispered to Aevaliin.

"You killed someone?" she asked quietly, surprised. I couldn't tell if she was impressed or disappointed. Maybe both.

The guard didn't let go of the thief as he looked to the Vigilant. "Do you recognize this man?" he asked, tilting his helmeted head to me. She looked at me thoughtfully before responding.

"I wasn't near enough to see any faces," she said, "I could only make out figures. But I witnessed the power of the magicka, unlike any I've ever seen before. It being Daedric would be the only explanation. The magicka seemed as if it were projected from some separate and very loud instrument, and Daedra _are_ known to forge their own weapons: ebony often being the metal of choice."

"He does not look Daedric, though. He's clearly a Nord," said the guard.

_I am?_

The guard who had disappeared returned now with two almost identical companions. Apparently he'd gone to get back-up.

"Do not be fooled," said the woman, "Daedra are masters at disguising themselves."

"Then you think he is a Daedra?" asked Ralof.

_Great. I've lost Thor now._

"He _is_!" the thief swore.

"Listen," I said, deciding it was high time to defend myself, "I'm not this 'Daedra' or whatever. I'm just a regular _Nord_."

I caught Aevaliin's slight smirk.

"You two," said the commanding guard, motioning to his back-up, "come hold this lowlife."

The two obeyed without a word, taking the guard's and Ralof's place in restraining the criminal. Ralof went to comfort his sister and nephew, quietly explaining to them the situation. The head guard stepped toward me. I was getting cold from the bitter morning air that had now flooded the house; I hugged my arms to my chest. I kept my leg poised so my foot was just barely touching the floor—any weight on my leg still hurt it, but the pain had been temporarily overridden from the suffering in the back of my head. Now I just hurt everywhere.

"What is your name?" the guard asked me almost threateningly.

"Daniel," I answered, breath showing.

"I cannot help but notice your unusual dress," he said. "And 'Daniel' is not a name I've heard before."

"Just because you've never heard it, doesn't mean it's not a name," I said. "There are plenty of names I'd never heard of before."

He was standing so close to me that through the dark holes in his helmet I could see his shadowed eyes narrow. He didn't like that answer. "Where are you from?"

"He's from Roscrea," Aevaliin said beside me before I had a chance to screw myself over. The guard turned on her.

"Can he not answer for himself?" he snapped. She said nothing. I silently thanked her. The guard turned back to me. "What brings you to the mainland, Daniel?"

"I'm . . ." _If it ever comes up, just say:_ "I'm an adventurer."

"Really? 'I'm an adventurer,' the default response for every guilty criminal," he challenged.

_Thanks guys_.

I shrugged, not knowing what to say. "I am."

"Where did you go after leaving Roscrea?"

"I came here."

"Straight here?" he questioned. "Wouldn't an adventurer want to stop along the way?"

"I've always wanted to see Skyrim."

"How did you get here?"

"I walked," I said, unsure of what methods of travel were "available" here. Walking seemed like the safest answer.

Aevaliin let out a breath she'd holding in and rubbed a hand over her face. Then it struck me that he'd said _mainland._ Roscrea was an island. Shit.

"_I told you_!" shouted the thief.

"_Really_?" the guard said to me, drawing his sword. "Interesting since that would be impossible for a Nord. Unless, of course, he weren't really a Nord, he were _Daedra_."

_There's that word again_.

"I'm not a Daedra," I said exasperatedly. "I don't even know what that is." Aevaliin gave me a shut-your-mouth kind of look.

With a flick of his arm the guard had the tip of his sword pressed to my throat. "One more word and I'll send you back to the depths of Oblivion," he growled. I tipped my head back instinctively and put my hands up, trying to proclaim my innocence and escape the danger of becoming a kebab. "Do not move."

The guard glanced over his shoulder and said to the remaining soldier, "You. Come search him for stolen goods and weapons." Then he muttered to himself, "Thought Daedra would be more intelligent."

"Let me go now," said the thief. "You got him."

"You're not going anywhere," said the commanding guard while keeping his eyes on me. The other soldier started coming toward me. My eyes darted wildly around the room for an escape from the situation. The thief tried again to shake his guards from him.

"What are you talking about? _We had a deal_!" he shouted.

"A deal in which you would be granted immunity from your robberies," the guard said calmly, not looking away from me. "You are still wanted for seven counts of murder, Raghnar."

"Agh!" he thrashed about, nearly succeeding in throwing his handlers from him. The guard who was on his way to search me turned back to help the other two subdue Raghnar. "You conniving bastard," he snarled, "you said complete immunity! I never killed anyone!"

"Complete immunity from your robberies," the guard repeated.

"Robbery's all I've ever done!" he swore.

The guard finally turned away from me to look at the commotion behind him. The sword at my neck drooped slightly as he commanded, "Tie him up and take him outside! Can you three not handle one man on your own?"

Opportunity was calling. The commanding guard was distracted; the other three were occupied with Raghnar. Aevaliin saw this too and she looked up at me expectantly, tightening her grip on the amulet in her hand—but I shook my head at her. I was in no condition to fight or flee. Merely standing for such a duration was making my head swim and my leg burned increasingly with every passing moment. Aevaliin nodded, understanding. It felt good to have her on my side.

"I'm not a murderer!" Raghnar bellowed as he was dragged outside. The hooded woman stepped aside to let the procession pass. "He is! The Daedra killed me brother! He's the murderer! Arrest him! Kill him—!"

The Vigilant closed the door behind the group, cutting off the pleading morning and Raghnar's desperation. The remaining guard turned back to me and pushed his sword to my neck. I stood firm.

"You really think this man is a Daedra?" Aevaliin asked the guard. I saw his eyes flick from mine to hers through the dark holes in his helmet. "Do you not think a Daedra would have fled by now? Or slaughtered his way free? Daniel has not even breathed out of line."

"Why then did he declare that he walked from Roscrea?" the guard questioned.

"He's an idiot," Aevaliin assured him. I frowned at her. "He knows not what he talks about. You think a Daedra trying to hide his identity would admit to walking a sea?"

The guard thought for a moment. "I cannot ignore the fact that Raghnar recognized him."

"The Vigilant of Stendarr does not recognize him," she countered.

"I already told you I was not near enough to see faces," said the dark-skinned woman. The door opened and a guard entered the house along with a frigid breeze. The Vigil continued, "But I would recognize the weapon. The sound of it, especially."

"The prisoner has been bound, Captain," reported the guard.

The commanding guard nodded to him before turning back to Aevaliin. The tip of his blade remained at my throat.

"A bandit will do anything to get himself out of trouble," she reasoned. "Even condemn an innocent man," she said as she tilted her head toward me.

A grim image flashed through my mind of a bloodied corpse staring blankly into the moon. My stomach tightened. _But I'm not innocent, Aevaliin. I'm not._

"Still I must follow procedure," the guard said apologetically, beckoning with a finger to the soldier behind him. "Search him."

My heart raced as I realized I was doomed. They'd find my gun, and then what? Brand me as a Daedra? Whatever the Hell that was—all I'd gathered so far was that it wasn't good. I glanced at Aevaliin out of the corner of my eye. She looked relieved, satisfied that she had convinced the guard that I wasn't the bad guy. She didn't know I was hiding something. I felt like I was betraying her.

The guard of a lesser rank began patting me down, starting at my shoulders. Down my arms, sides. Crouching, he patted my legs—and he paused, feeling the slight bumps in my pockets. He looked up. "What are you carrying?"

Aevaliin shot a glance at me. I swallowed, unable to answer. What was I supposed to tell him, that I'd brought my lethal firearm over from another planet? Through the holes in his helmet I could see the captain's shadowed eyes narrow and he put a little more force into his sword at my neck, just enough to not break the skin. The second guard reached into my pocket and pulled out the extra magazine. He eyed it curiously before holding it up to me.

"What is this?" he asked. I hesitated and the commanding guard pushed further with his sword. I shivered at the pinch of skin breaking and the feel of a warm droplet of blood on my neck.

"It's . . . ammunition," I said.

"Ammunition?"

"Yeah. For, ah . . ." And out of my other pocket, the guard revealed the gun. I let out a deep breath. My eyes snapped to Aevaliin, and my stomach knotted at her look of shock and regret.

"What in Oblivion . . ." the guard said, astounded. The Vigilant of Stendarr gasped in recognition. Why had I never seen her that night? Where was she hiding when I murdered a man? It didn't seem real, that I had killed a person; almost as if since I wasn't on Earth, it didn't count. Like Raghnar's brother was fake—like all these people were fake.

The guard slowly rose to his feet and offered my Ruger to his superior. The captain seemed reluctant at first to touch it, but ended up taking the gun by the handle. He gazed at it curiously and, without really knowing it, pointed it at me.

"Hey, careful!" I retreated, instinctively shielding my face with my arms. "That thing's loaded!" I received inquisitive stares from people who didn't understand the danger of a gun.

"I told you not to move," the guard said, stepping toward me and pushing his sword back to my throat.

"That's the weapon," the Vigil said quietly. "I recognize it."

"'Tis even made of ebony," the second guard observed. Another face-palm moment.

"It's not ebony!" I said desperately. "It's a gun, and it'll kill you if you keep playing with it."

"You _are_ Daedra," the commanding guard spat at me. "And _you_," he turned on Aevaliin, "tried to hide it!"

"I . . . I didn't know," she said, disheartened. She looked down at the sapphire amulet in her palm, refusing to meet my eyes. I'd lost her now, too—had I ever _had_ her?

The guard turned the gun over in his hands, pointing it at himself, Aevaliin, Ralof, the Vigilant . . . all unknowingly. "Stop waving it around like that!" I yelled at him. "You're gonna shoot somebody!"

"Keep your mouth shut," he demanded, drawing more blood from the force of his sword under my chin.

"Just put the gun down," I pleaded. The small prick in my neck turned into a stinging cut that only deepened with each word I tried to tell him. With the guard's aggression toward me, I watched horrifyingly as his hand tightened around the gun, fingers closing . . .

_CRACK!_

The sound was deafening in the small confines of Gerdur's home. I clamped my hands over my ears and ducked reflexively, seeing everyone else in the room do the same. The recoil sent the Ruger flying from the captain's hand—being unprepared for the kick—and the gun landed heavily on the floor. The bullet came close to me; I could hear the _hum_ of it and then an instant later the _fling_ of the projectile ricocheting off of the stone of the fireplace, but I was not hit.

I looked up, finding myself in a sudden panic at the thought of Aevaliin having been shot, but she was unharmed. Her startled eyes met mine as she slowly lowered her hands from her ears and straightened herself, quick to recompose. Quick to prove that she was unshakable.

I felt relieved as I looked around. No one had been hurt: Ralof embraced Gerdur and Frodnar at the far end of the house, the Vigilant stood shocked by the door. The commanding guard stared dazedly at his hand, not understanding what had just occurred, and a back-up guard burst into the house to investigate the noise. His gaze immediately fell to the floor, and as I followed where he was looking my relief drained away.

The guard who had patted me down lay rolling on his back, hands clamped around his knee. He tore off his helmet, revealing the pain-stricken face of a red haired man who was younger than I was. I could tell from his expression that he was screaming in pain, though no sound reached me. Both the back-up guard and captain flew to his aid after realizing what had happened. A piercing ringing soon filled my ears, which gradually dulled and was replaced by the cries of the man who'd been shot in the knee.

I didn't know what to do. All the knowledge I had of gunshot wounds was from television shows. They'd usually wrap something tight around it and shout dramatically, _'Keep pressure on the wound!'_ And I would've told the guards that, shared my bit of hopeless knowledge had it not been for the fact that I suddenly found myself ducking from the razor-edged blade of the infuriated commanding guard who was bellowing, "Time to cleanse the Empire of its filth!" I watched in awe as a chunk of my shaggy, blond hair floated to the ground—his sword came _that_ close to decapitating me.

I'd fallen to the floor with my feeble dodge. The captain slashed downward, shouting, "Skyrim has no use for your kind!" as he tried to slice me in two, and I rolled desperately to my side in an effort to stay alive. He missed target and buried his blade into the wooden floor; he was truly trying to kill me. I scrambled away, moving toward the far end of the house, partially getting to my feet, stumbling, turning, falling to my back, still retreating. I watched as the guard yanked his sword free with one angry jerk of the arm and strode toward me, knowing he had me cornered, knowing I was finished. He took off his helmet and let it drop to the floor, revealing his face.

The man was twice my age with dark, chin length hair and a thick goatee. He had narrow, black eyes, and I knew his enraged face was what he wanted me to see as he killed me—which is why I locked eyes with Aevaliin across the room. Her bottomless stare matched the gem in her hands and she looked regretful as I watched the guard bring his sword down on me out of the corner of my eye. What I didn't expect was for his blade to clash with another, and I looked up from the sharp sound of metal on metal, shocked but happy to see Thor defending me. Whether Ralof intervened because he actually cared about me or simply because he hated Imperial soldiers, I would never know. But he saved my life.

"You just crossed blades with an Imperial Captain, Stormcloak," the guard intimidated. "You are not my priority so I'll let you off with a warning, but you should know to never interfere with Imperial business again."

Ralof could be just as menacing. "And you should know to never step foot in this house again, _Captain_, or I'll have your head." With that he sheathed his sword.

The captain reluctantly did the same and then set his black eyes on me. He forcefully gripped my upper arm, yanked me forward and flung me stomach-down onto the ground. My left cheek hit hard on the splintery wooden floor and I winced as the guard knelt onto me. He bent my arms painfully behind my back and fiercely bound my wrists—and in an instant I relived the few times I'd been thrown down on the hood of a cop car and handcuffed behind my back. Except cops had laws to abide by; I got the feeling that this guard could slay me right here, perhaps because he'd tried to.

The commanding guard seized my arms and dragged me to my feet, dizziness setting back in now that the rush of events had passed. I swayed when I stood and the captain let me, in fact he pushed me into the nearest wall and drew his sword, pressing it to my throat again as a final reminder. I looked only to Aevaliin's glassy eyes as the guard's lifeless ones bore into mine and he snarled at me, "You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. My name is Cassian Casper. I will personally see to your execution."

_Everyone hates me_.

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_I'd love to hear the input of those of you who have read this far—any comments at all. It means a lot!**  
Rudyeie**_


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